


The Game has Changed

by youtextd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Character Death, Crime Scenes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Infidelity, Evil Mary, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Drug Use, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, John Has a Beard, Johnlock Roulette, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mary is Not Nice, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Really Character Death, PTSD Sherlock, Panic Attacks, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Psychological Torture, Rimming, Series 3 AU, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sussex, Tags Contain Spoilers, Top John Watson, Torture, and Sherlock likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 60
Words: 105,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtextd/pseuds/youtextd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is hurt too much - both physically and emotionally - to return to John as he had envisioned. Mycroft will stop at nothing to protect his baby brother and calls in John's help. But can they move past what happened to the both of them and restore what they had before Sherlock jumped?</p><p> </p><p>*Keep an eye on the tags and the rating for they tend to change as the story progresses! Also; spoiler alert for the tags!*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another RP between Sherrllocked and Johnnlocked. We are still writing this as we speak, so expect regular updates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Torture and psychological torture.

‘Do you remember sleep?’ 

The Serbian words were grating on Mycroft’s nerves but he forced himself to keep still and observe. Not the offending Serbian. He had him figured out – cheating wife (with the neighbour…so very dull) electricity not working, low education – from the very moment he set foot inside the smelly damp cell.

No. His attentions were focused on the man who was currently trying very hard to stay on his legs while being beaten to avoid too much tension on his shackled arms. The man’s head has bowed, his long curly dark hair covering his face completely from view and Mycroft frowned.

Apart from the occasional grunt and groan as the torturer's fists collided with his bloody body – and on several occasions a metal pipe – the man was completely silent. No taunting. No remarks. No deductions.

Nothing. 

The Serbian seemed to grow tired of trying to beat the man into submission and made a threatening step forward to him.

It was then that Mycroft realised that he should have intervened sooner. That he should have acted the moment Sherlock disappeared from his radar while breaking in to this place. It had been unthinkable to even consider the possibility that his little brother had been caught – surely Sherlock could have managed them easily.

Mycroft watched in silent horror as the man in chains tried desperately to get as far away from the Serbian as possible up until the point he came into serious danger of dislocating his arm. The reason for Sherlock’s fear became apparent as his torturer began to speak.

‘Should we try and find this John you’ve been screaming for in your sleep?’ The man’s whispered voice reached Mycroft’s ear and his stomach turned. ‘Bring him here and beat him? Rape him? Right here in this room so you can watch…’

‘…please…’ Sherlock’s broken voice spurred Mycroft off his chair and before the Serbian had a chance to turn around to see what was going on, a well-placed punch against his temple sent him crashing to the ground.  
Sherlock – seemingly unaware of the change – continued his desperate muttering, alternating between different languages. Mycroft pulled out his phone with one hand, alerting Anthea of the situation and demanding immediate armed back-up, while his other hand carefully and oh so tenderly, brushed the long strands of hair away from his brother’s face.  
He froze at the sight the greeted him.

Sherlock was battered and bruised, eyes wide open, glazed and the fear in them rendered Mycroft speechless. He had been far too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft calls in John's help.

John sat in his office, hiding from everyone during his lunch break. He didn't quite feel very sociable today. Yes, he was on cloud nine, had been since Mary had accepted his proposal Friday evening, but he couldn't help feeling a bit of sadness somewhere deep inside. He had never imagined things turning out this way but then his life has a funny way of doing that. He had never pictured a life outside of Baker Street, yet here he sat, Monday morning, faking a smile that he shouldn't have to, so he hid. Away from everyone and their congratulations. He didn't need it getting back to Mary that he didn't seem happily engaged after a surprise weekend away from London. It had been his idea after all. Whisking her away, surprising her at dinner with the ring, and asking her for her hand, then spending the rest of the weekend in bed together.

So why was he sad? He knew damn well why. Why he always would be. The answer was plain and simple, because while Mary was wonderful, and everything he could ever ask for in a spouse to be, she wasn't what he really wanted or needed. She wasn't  _ **him**_. No one would ever be. Would ever come close to being _**him**_.

Hell, even after all this time, John still couldn't use  _ **his**_  name - out loud or in his mind. It just hurt too damn much. But he was doing what everyone told him he needed to do. He was moving on, even if it felt wrong, so he hid those feelings, along with the rest that he kept locked away deep down inside and tried not to think about them.

The shrill ring of his phone pulled him out of his melancholic state, back to the present. He scooped it up looking at the display, shocked to see who it was, Mrs. Hudson. He briefly debated answering, he couldn't fake another thank you for the well wishes, but then it occurred to him there was no way for her to know. He hadn't kept in regular contact with his ex-landlady. It wasn't that he felt any ill will towards her. It was just, well she was a reminder of  _ **him**_  and John needed to steer clear of that if he was to ever move on successfully.

‘Hello, Mr. Hudson. How are you?’

‘John, dear, it's been ages. I hate to bother you at work, I know you're busy and all now that... Well, anyway.’

‘No, Mrs. Hudson. You're not a bother and I am sorry, just been ridiculously busy. I've been meaning to call, but...’ He hated lying to the dear lady, but he hated ignoring her as well. It was just so complicated, the past.

‘John, it's alright dear. You needn't make any excuses. I understand completely. Look, the reason why I've called, I was busy tidying up your flat and I came across some things that I think are yours and rather important. It seems to be some financial papers addressed to you, but they're sealed. There's also some other things here that I'm sure you'd like as well. Would you mind coming by to get them? I would just hate for you to miss out on something if it's important.’

‘Sure, I can stop by on my way home from work this evening if that's fine by you?’

‘Oh dear, I'm afraid I won't be here. Could you possibly do it now? I'm going away for the week and they looked rather important...’

John glanced at his watch, his lunch break had just started and it was only a short distance by foot. He could go and be back with time to spare. Besides, he could use the fresh air. ‘Well, I suppose I could come now if you're certain you're going to be there, but I won't be able to stay long. I'm on my lunch break and it just started, I can manage it as long as I don't fool around.’

‘Oh John, that would be wonderful. Thank you dear. I'll see you in a bit and just come straight on up to the flat. I'll be waiting there for you. See you then.’ She rung off.

John found the whole conversation a bit weird, but then that was Mrs. Hudson. He quickly stood, grabbing his coat and making for the door. He tried not to think that in a few short moments, he would be standing in the last place he expected to be that afternoon - 221B.

 

‘He is on his way.’

Mycroft managed a smile at Sherlock’s and John’s former landlady. He had – ever since Sherlock’s first encounter with her and her husband – always found her a remarkably strong and tolerant woman. She had taken Sherlock in and offered him a safe haven when he so desperately needed it. He didn’t like using her in this way.

But Mycroft Holmes, not for the first time since this entire ordeal started, felt nervous, now perhaps more so than ever. The last time he and John had seen each other had been at Sherlock’s ‘funeral’ and if it hadn’t been for John’s restraint and unwillingness to cause a scene at a funeral which was already watched by the press, he would have walked away with a broken nose.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.’

Mrs. Hudson didn’t leave just yet. ‘Whatever you want with John…please, Mr. Holmes, he hasn’t been here in years…can’t it…’

‘No Mrs. Hudson, I do apologise, but this is of the most urgent matter and I’m afraid I am in desperate need of Dr. Watson’s help.’

Mrs Hudson said nothing for a moment before taking a deep shaky breath. Seeing him in the living room of 221B must bring back some significant memories for her, Mycroft gathered and he had the sense to look away.

He heard the old lady go downstairs, no doubt to receive John when he would arrive.

Mycroft would have preferred to leave John completely out of this but the current situation left him with no other choice. Sensing that the doctor would ignore him if he would try to simply pick him up off the street like he would have done before, he had chosen for a more manipulative route. He needed John’s help and he would stop at nothing to ensure he got it. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tells the truth...

John kept his mind occupied on the short walk to Baker Street. He had told the receptionist that he needed to step out quickly for an urgent errand and that he would be back in time by the end of his normal lunch break. He had a bit of leeway just in case, as the first two slots after lunch were left free for paper work. That would allow him an extra half an hour to calm himself if needed. Though he really saw no reason for it, this was just a short visit to pick up some papers and be on his way.

It wasn't until he stood on the steps at Baker Street that he noticed the trembling of his hand as he turned the door knob. The memories that hit him as he entered the foyer were almost too much - the two of them leaning against the wall after a short chase, laughing as they decided this was right and that 221b would be their home together - and he had yet to make it up to the stairs to the flat itself.  He took a deep breath and reached out for the rail, letting his fingers glide over the polished surface.  He leaned heavily on it as he slowly made his way up to the second floor, his heart rate increasing with each step as he neared the landing. Maybe this was a bad idea, not worth the panic attack he was trying to stave off at the moment. Why had he agreed to this? Why hadn't he just ask her to bring the things to the first floor, meet her on the steps and make some lame excuse about being pressed for time? Because John couldn't do that to Mrs. Hudson, he didn't have the heart to be mean to her, well not about something trivial like this. He had been watching his feet as he walked, he wasn't quite ready to look at the flat as he entered.

"Mrs. Hudson, you..." his voiced halted as he lifted his head, eyes settling on Mycroft Holmes who stood next to  _** his ** _  chair. John was speechless. His mind completely stopping, not able to come up with a single thought as to why Mycroft Holmes would want to see him because surely this was no mistake. The bastard using poor Mrs. Hudson as a ruse to get him here. But why? He had half a mind to turn around but curiosity made him stay. What in the hell could this man possibly want with him after all this time?

Mycroft felt his heart rate pick up at the sound of a key being turned in the front door. Peculiar. Both his reaction and the fact that John Watson still had the key to 221 Baker Street on him.

Mrs. Hudson must have called his work at this time of day and yet it had taken John not long at all to reach his former flat. Certainly not long enough to warrant a trip to his new home with Miss Morstan – soon to be Watson, his documents provided. So he still kept the key on him. 

It was noticeable from the wary way John ascended the stairs. His steps were heavy and slow and Mycroft made a note of John’s mental state when the other man failed to realise that Mrs. Hudson hadn’t come out to greet him.

Mycroft straightened himself, supporting himself – seeking strength perhaps, a reminder who he was doing this for – on Sherlock’s leather chair, when John walked into the room.

Even the least observant individual could sense the shock morphing into aggression in John’s posture. Two years had hardly lessened his anger towards the elder Holmes obviously and Mycroft knew that had largely to do with the fact how he had drawn the good doctor here. To his old flat. Filled with, no doubt rather painful, memories.

The surveillance footage did him no justice; John looked older than his years suggested. His limp had returned, only slightly but enough for a passer-by to notice. He was still grieving despite his apparent attempt of 'moving on'. 

‘Apologies for the deception, Dr. Watson,’ Mycroft started. He avoided the use of John’s name – too familiar; John wouldn’t appreciate it. ‘But I urgently needed to talk to you and ask you for your help in a very delicate matter.’

Well that certainly was a first. An apology right off the bat from Mycroft Holmes. Still, it meant nothing and it took all of John's self-control not to cross the few short steps it would take and deck him in the face. Something he's always wanted to have the pleasure doing. But he wouldn't. Not here. Not now. Not in the flat they had shared. He wanted to leave what few good memories he had here intact. Though, what would it matter because really, he would never be returning here, not after today. 

John clenched his fist, but held steady, he wouldn't let Mycroft Holmes get under his skin. "There is absolutely nothing you could say to me that would make me help you." he scoffed.

Mycroft raised his chin slightly to observe John. Very angry. Desperate to punch him if the clenching of his fist was any indication – right now, Mycroft would have let him considering the amount of lies and bad judgements he was responsible for in the past two years – but he held back.

Once Mycroft had doubted John’s loyalty to Sherlock, only to be proven wrong at every single occasion. John Watson had turned out to be the perfect friend for his little brother, a valiant companion and a stead-fast presence in his life.

Even now, with Sherlock being dead to John’s mind, he refused to let anything or anyone taint the memories he still had.

Mycroft took a deep breath, forcing himself to move on. Time was not a luxury he had at the moment.

‘I believe there is,’ he said cryptically. He kept his eyes firmly on John, allowing his cold mask to fall, just a little, to let John see he was serious about this. And very much desperate.

‘Dr. Watson…’ _No, not like this._ ‘John…believe me when I say that we are very sorry. I never intended for you to be involved like this.’ Steeling himself for John’s reaction, he decided to simply say it. ‘Sherlock is alive and he needs your help.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's faced with some shocking news he's not sure he believes...

John heard the words, but didn't believe them. He knew Mycroft would use whatever he could to get whatever he wanted, no expense (physical or mental) spared. In fact, it didn't even surprise him that he would have found a way to use him like this even after all this time, after his death. It should have shocked him, but it didn't. That's how numb John Watson was when it came to the mere mention him.

‘No, not buying it or your lies.’ He turned to leave, but stopped. ‘And how dare you use his memory like that just to get something you need.’ John shook his fist and steadied himself. He really wanted to throttle the bastard now, but he turned to make his exit. He wasn't going to let Mycroft provoke him into getting thrown in jail, no matter how much the git deserved it. ‘Piss off and leave me alone.’

No, John wasn’t allowed to leave. His brother’s life depended on his help!

‘Please, John,’ he breathed out, taking a step away from Sherlock’s chair towards John. As if he was capable of physically stopping him.

‘I realise how this must sound, but it is the truth. Sherlock has spent the past two years dismantling Moriarty’s network, cell for cell, in an attempt to remove his influence completely. It was vital that you remained unaware of this fact due to the danger but…If things had gone according to plan, you would never have known and he would have appeared before you like a ghost.’

Mycroft could see it. Sherlock would have ambushed John – appearing as one of his patients, a waiter at the restaurant John dinned at several days ago and John would have been furious, but he would have forgiven him. Eventually.

‘Sherlock is alive, John. But he is gravely injured and in need of medical attention. I’m afraid that my doctors can’t help him.’

Mycroft swallowed at the sudden onslaught of images he saw in his mind of his brother, refusing any help, too terrified to know that he was safe, screaming for John in his sleep, begging someone – Mycroft had a pretty good idea who – to let him live, to leave him alone.

‘I would not have come to you for other reasons,’ Mycroft continued carefully. ‘I know you despise me and you have every reason to right now. But please, I’m asking you as his brother. He needs your help.’

John froze in his tracks, kept his back to Mycroft as he spoke. It did sound like something Sherlock would do. It didn't make sense though. There would have been no reason for Sherlock to keep this from him. That bit just didn't make sense. Sherlock wouldn't do that to him. And when did that happen? That wasn't good that John, using his name again. It made it all too real and if it wasn’t, well he would kill Mycroft and happily rot away in a jail cell somewhere.

He slowly turned. He tried to keep all the emotion from his face when he spoke. ‘Even if I believed you and that's a BIG IF, why come to me now. I don't believe you can't find a doctor to help him. What aren't you telling me?’

Mycroft mentally sighed in relief when John turned back to him. The other man was wary – extremely so – and Mycroft couldn’t blame him. But for now, he was glad that he had grasped John’s attention again.

‘It isn’t that I have been unable to find doctors who can help him,’ Mycroft explained, letting the worry show on his face. ‘In fact I have many physicians capable of the task. It is the fact that…Sherlock does not allow them to help him. He…’

Mycroft could hear the Serbian in his ears again, taunting his little brother. The grunts and groans as his body was beaten more often and harder, leaving his back a maze of lacerations and bruises. He could smell the dingy cell Sherlock had been locked away in for weeks. He could see the fear in his baby brother’s eyes when he saw Mycroft.

He took a breath, ignoring the taste of bile in his throat as he spoke. ‘He was tortured. Severely. And, save for myself, does not allow a single soul near him. He cowers away, appearing catatonic but when they push further he lashes out in a desperate attempt to defend. Considering his history and recent struggles, I would not like to see him drugged.’

His summary was brutally cold and honest but Mycroft had the suspicion that that was the only way to convince John of the necessity of his help. Or just to convince him enough that he would come with Mycroft out of his own free will.

John watched Mycroft while he spoke and scrutinized each word. To be honest, he was shocked at Mycroft's openness of the situation. The man did not appear to be lying, but it was still safer to tread slowly. He still harboured reservations with good reason.

John was horrified by the way Mycroft glossed over Sherlock's situation, the coldness and detachment as he explained what Sherlock had been through and what he was experiencing now. It painted an all too vivid, familiar picture for John but he was missing some key points. And if Mycroft wasn't straight with him, he wouldn't help. He needed to know everything, otherwise he would only end up hurting Sherlock.

When John finally spoke, he kept it short and to the point. ‘You do realise there's no reason to expect him to treat me any differently. And if he does allow me to help, I have conditions. And if you or him cannot abide to them, then I won't help. So I hope you didn't promise him anything.’

Mycroft opened and closed his mouth at John’s remark.

How could this man question his ability to help? Did he not know the influence he had on Sherlock? How highly his brother regarded him? Cared for him? When Sherlock had come to Mycroft for help – and that had been one day Mycroft would never forget – because he feared Moriarty would target John, Mycroft realised more than ever the depth of affection his brother felt for the ex-army doctor. His only and best friend.

Even Moriarty had underestimated Sherlock's feelings for John Watson. Using Mrs. Hudson and Gregory Lestrade had been a massive case of overkill.

But he said nothing. A comment on that would surely push John away in the opposite direction and that was the last thing he could afford.

John was too calm, Mycroft noted with a small frown. No anger at the deception, no joy at the revelation that Sherlock was alive. Just a curt blankness. Like a business exchange.  
He doesn’t believe it.

‘I would ask you to come with me Dr. Watson, to see the evidence of what I tell you with your own eyes. I will tell you all that you wish to know, I do promise you, but I must urge you to make your decision fast.’

John considered Mycroft's words for a moment and he came to realise something, he needed to put Sherlock's well-being above his own desire to see him.

'I can't go with you. Not just yet. Not until you tell me why you think Sherlock will let me anywhere near him when he won't let anyone else. Does he even know he's in London? That he is safe. If you don't do this right, you may hurt him even more than he already is, making it impossible for anyone to help him down the line. What makes me so special?’


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes his case for John to come with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the response to this story has been truly overwhelming and we wanted to thank everyone for all the amazing comments you've left for us. You guys are what makes us keep writing.

If Mycroft were to look back on this moment, he would blame the sleepless nights he’s had since Sherlock’s rescue. He would blame his worrying about his brother’s welfare and his impatience at John’s refusal to simply believe him and follow him and his sheer ignorance of his own importance to his brothers.

But for now, he lost what little self-control he had left.

‘Because you’re the reason he had to fake his death in the first place,’ he hissed out, hands gripping his umbrella so hard his knuckles turned white. ‘It was the threat on your life that made Sherlock come to me for help in the first place and even now it is for concern of your life that he has endured the torture he has suffered. My brother is currently delirious with malnutrition and fever and the only words of significance that have left his mouth since his return to London have been him begging us to not harm you and leave you alone!’

Mycroft took a deep breath, suddenly feeling light-headed and he grabbed Sherlock’s chair to re-balance himself. The strain of the last days was weighing heavily on him and only now did he fully understand what their deception might have caused John.

No time for such sentiments now. John needed to come with him. Now.

‘John, your mere presence would calm my brother enough so we can help him. Letting him see you’re safe from harm, along with my face would be able to make him see that he is safe as well.’

John was speechless. There was really nothing he could say to this. No argument or refusal he could use to prevent him from going now. Of course he would have went regardless, but he deserved some answers first. It's not exactly like he lied, hell both Holmes' brothers had done worse, but he did deserve the truth. Now that he had it though, he wasn't sure what to do with it. It was something that he never expected to hear, but for now he had to place it aside and turn his focus to Sherlock. Sherlock needed him. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped the screen open and pressed the contact icon for the clinic. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't be shaky when he spoke. He didn't offer Mycroft any indications of his choice. He figured the man could figure it out for himself as he spoke.

'Hi, Missy, yes, it's Doctor Watson......' (slight pause) 'yes, yes, I know I'm not back like I promised. No, no. Everything is alright with me, but I do have sort of an unexpected emergency that I need to take care of.' (another pause) 'No Missy. I am fine. I just didn't realise the time. Yes, I should have called sooner and no I didn't realise I had messages. No, tell Mary I'm fine...' (yet another pause)  


John raised his voice now, 'Yes, now please be quiet. I'm trying to explain if you would let me. I've just received some unexpected news and it's rather urgent and it does require that I take some time off. I need you to clear my schedule the rest of the afternoon and the week for now at least. No, I'm not going to explain to you what the nature of the emergency is, other than the fact that it is a family emergency and requires my immediate attention. Let Dr. Mills know I will call later when I have more of an idea of the situation. Thank you Missy, I have to go now.' He clicked off without allowing the chance for any more questions.

He looked up at Mycroft. 'Lead the way.'

Mycroft’s shoulders sagged visibly in relief as John took out his phone after staring at him in shock for a couple of seconds and while the doctor was one the phone, he let his staff know they were currently on their way and to make sure that John Watson would not be disturbed in the future so he could focus solely on what lay ahead.

He nodded briefly before letting go of the chair and made his way downstairs to the car that had been waiting for them.

Hopefully Sherlock would respond the way Mycroft hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's not quite sure where he's at and he's having very vivid flashbacks/ hallucinations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Flashbacks and hallucinations

Strange. He was cold a moment ago. Serbia. Dungeon.

How could he be warm?

Not important. Transport. He needed to get out. Get out, find Mycroft. Find John. Make sure he’s still safe. They threatened him, they would hurt him, rape him, kill him…

  _I will burn the heart out of you…John will die if you don’t…and you’re still alive aren’t you? I’ll burn him…_

**‘No!’**

The scream tore from his throat before he could stop it, heaving his body upright. Burning! Not heat. Pain. They were beating him, over and over and over… ‘stop…please…’ Laughing. They kept on laughing, threatening John. Hold on. For John. As long as they are working on you, John is safe. Do not let them get bored with you!

‘Sherlock?’

That woman again. Sherlock had heard her voice before, he knew he knew it, but he couldn’t see her face. Not while all the colours were dancing in front of him. Where was Mycroft? Wasn’t he here a moment ago?

Where was he? Serbia?

‘Sherlock, John is coming. He is on his way.’

Sherlock blinked a few times before a sharp pain near his kidney made him desperate to get up. No John, couldn’t be here! John was supposed to be safe! If they had John, they would kill him! ‘No, please, you can’t harm him, please. Not John! I’ll kill you myself. I’ll rip your throat out with my bare hands. Do not lay one fingers on him!’

But before he could take a single step to the source of the voice, he staggered and fell on his knees, making him tremble in pain.

‘John…’


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a glimpse of the physical torture Sherlock had endured during his two years away and suspects the extent of the psychological effects of that may have damaged him beyond repair.

John followed Mycroft down the stairs, out the door, and into the back of the waiting SUV, some things never change, however the woman sitting in the passenger's seat, was not Anthea. John idly wondered where she was as they settled into the back of the vehicle. Somewhere else doing something more important he guessed. The new girl handed Mycroft a stack of files and papers and turned her focus back to the front, instructing the driver that they were ready.

Without any preamble, Mycroft handed the files to John which he accepted quietly. He let them sit in his lap, studying the outside of them a moment, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. The realness of this was just catching up with him. The shock fading a bit and the reality setting in. He was headed to see Sherlock. It was all too much yet not enough at the same time. God how he had dreamed of this being some huge hoax, had always hoped, especially in the beginning, because let's face it, if someone could pull it off, that someone would be Sherlock, but as the days, months and then years passed by, his hope had faltered. He never forgot, he just couldn't imagine anything that would keep Sherlock away that long. And now he had an answer. His safety is what kept Sherlock away.

He returned his focus back to the folders on his lap. All and all, it was a total of four folders. He started with the first one. It was dated almost two weeks prior. It was the day Mycroft had rescued him from his captors. John had read through the written report before coming across the pictures. He winced. The written reports had given John a good enough idea of Sherlock's injuries, he didn't need pictures, but he looked and what he saw horrified him. He would have never known the man in the photos was Sherlock without being told. His body thinner than John had ever witnessed due to malnourishment and starvation as forms of torture. Bruises all over his body and lacerations covering almost every inch of skin on his upper back, most of which were sure to scar to some degree and his hair. Those gorgeous curls a ratty, tangled mess. John wasn't sure if he wanted to be sick or if he just need to be left alone to sob. It was because of him that Sherlock had allowed himself to be captured and tortured like this. He couldn't help the way that it affected him, but he steeled himself and let the doctor in him take over. He would have to deal with the anger, sorrow and grief growing inside of him later. Right now he needed to come to Sherlock's aid, bring him back home, to the present, make him see that he was safe. That they were both safe. And then start the long process of healing. He had read the last bit of the file. They had needed to sedate him. Of course they had. It was the only way for all the parties involved to be safe, as Sherlock was acting out aggressively and Mycroft refused to allow him to be bound in anyway. It had been necessary in order to catalogue his injuries and to make sure there wasn't anything life threatening going on internally in his body or brain. John had guessed, it was at this point they took the time to cut his hair during one of the first rounds of sedation. Someone had made the notation that they tried this in hopes of helping him to realise he was safe now, no longer on his mission, but it had failed. Sherlock said he was aware of all their tricks and that he wasn't that easy to fool. There was red flag number one. Proof that he may not think John was really John when they finally came face to face. John could only hope that this wouldn't be the case, but he had to prepare himself that maybe Sherlock was beyond reach. He wouldn't know until he had a chance to be in the same room with Sherlock, so for now, he pushed that detail aside and continued to the second file.

The second was notes from the doctor that accompanied them home. Again, he had been sedated nearly the entire time to ensure his safety while he returned home. This file was mostly just a list of vitals from the time they left Serbia until they arrived in London.

The third file contained shortened summaries of the several specialists that Mycroft had specially flown in but in the end left because the situation was too volatile to treat without the use of drugs which Mycroft had declined.

The last file was the thickest. It was written by Anthea. It was detailed and organized and the most telling as far as John was concerned. It included all the things the previous doctors would not have bothered to write down. Anthea kept meticulous notes and she appeared to be the only one watching Sherlock around the clock and while John didn't necessarily agree with the current course of action (which was basically just having Anthea babysit and take notes) John understood why Mycroft had chosen it. Of course there were nurses and doctors on standby, but there was no interaction between them and Sherlock. The only interaction had been between Sherlock and Anthea and that was on a limited basis, basically only a handful of times when he was lucid enough to recognise her and the fact that was indeed back in London. There was sign number one that maybe, just maybe Sherlock was reachable after all. From what John could gather, Anthea's new assignment appeared to be watching over Sherlock and writing down everything that occurred. When he was awake, she was awake observing. When he slept, well she would rest a bit herself, but mostly she still observed. That had been going on for three days now. He couldn't imagine what that must be like but he was well aware that he was about to find out, since this was about to become his job now. Not because Mycroft had asked, but because Sherlock needed him. He only hoped that it wasn't too late. He did find one thing odd though as he read over Anthea's reports. She was meticulous about everything, writing down every single word that Sherlock uttered, but there had to be some missing, well omitted from this report at least. He went into great detail about how he knew this was an elaborate plot to trick him into thinking he was home and safe and that he would get out and kill them all - again very detailed accounts of how he would exactly do it, yet when it came to what actually triggered the episodes, the nightmares, actually night terrors. All Anthea noted was that he would wake screaming John's name, nothing more. John knew that was wrong, that what Sherlock would say was being kept from him. He knew why Mycroft had told them to do it, but it was really moot, because if this worked like they hoped it would, John would find out soon enough and he'd much rather know ahead of time so he wouldn't be shocked the first time he heard it. He had finished the file and now knew what lie ahead. He was almost ready for his first face to face with Sherlock, but first he needed a few answers.

 

John cleared his throat and turned to Mycroft.

‘This isn't going to be easy and it's very likely he may not be reachable. You need to understand that and if that's the case, then you need to be willing to do what needs to be done to keep him safe from himself.’ John didn't like pointing that out, but he needed to. He also knew Mycroft was well aware of it it and that he was basically Mycroft's last ditch effort. No pressure there. ‘So what I need to know from you now is two things and you need to be honest about it. One, what does he really say when he wakes from his night terrors. I know he yells more than just my name. I also know you're trying to protect his dignity, but the last thing that would be good for him is me freaking out when confronted with whatever it is that happens then. I can't help him if I don't know everything, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it is for either of us. And two, did you finish what he started? Is there any of Moriarty's network left? Because if he makes it back from this only to find out that the threat is still out there, that might break him for good. So put all the bullshit aside and answer these last two questions truthfully.’

As the car drove on to the secret location where Sherlock was being held and John was engrossed in the files his assistant had given him, Mycroft allowed himself to stare outside.

He could feel John reacting to the contents of the folders next to him, but for once, he didn’t feel the need to scrutinise his reactions. He felt tired. Ever since Sherlock stepped off that roof to go after the remains of Moriarty’s network, his life had been a constant juggle between keeping his little brother safe, keeping a close eye on John Watson, informing their parents, continuing his regular – and slightly more irregular – work and appearing to be the grieving brother.

Seeing Sherlock like this reminded him too much of the days where he had been completely out of control. Desperate for the next hit, poisoning his mind with heroin and morphine. And it exhausted Mycroft.

But he couldn’t allow himself to rest, not yet.

John’s voice broke the silence in the car and Mycroft turned his head to him. He was still very calm, Mycroft noted as he contemplated his words. As if he still didn’t quite believe it despite having the evidence right there in his hands. If anything, he seemed more focused now. Ready to do the job required. Was this the soldier or the doctor, sitting next to Mycroft right now, he wondered.

‘Sherlock rarely allows himself to sleep as you might imagine,’ Mycroft said. ‘Whether it is from fear of his dream or fear of what might happen to him if he sleep, we do not know for sure. I suspect it is both. From what we can tell…’ Mycroft took a deep breath before continuing, ‘he sees your death. He begs for your life and in the more quiet moments he begs merely for your presence. Whenever he wakes it is with your name on his lips. He stops himself before he says more – fear again, of giving too much away to his ‘captors’. But I must warn you John, that the true horror lies in his eyes.’  
Mycroft paused for a moment, shaken by the memories.

‘I have never seen my little brother like this, not even during his time in rehab. As for your second question, the Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle, so to speak. We have no evidence of there being any trace left of Moriarty’s network. He is, truly and utterly gone from this world, John.’

The car slowed and Mycroft looked out the window. ‘We’re here.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sees Sherlock

John took everything Mycroft said and kept it to the forefront of his memory, along with all the rest of the information he deemed important from the files.

John gave the building a once over when they climbed out of the vehicle. Typical Mycroft safe house location. John had never seen this one, but it was similar to the last one he and Sherlock had been stashed in for a weekend the last time Sherlock got a little 'too involved' in one of their cases. John couldn't help but wonder though, why the need for such secrecy. Yes, the whole world still assumed Sherlock was dead, but surely Mycroft could have found some kind of private medical facility if he was worried about Sherlock's health. Then knowing Mycroft, he had everything imaginable on hand if the need arose. Hell, John didn't even know why he was worried. Mycroft had it covered, of course he did. 

They were quiet as they entered the building and proceeded to the suite of rooms where Sherlock was currently held. The observation room was quiet as they entered. Anthea looked up from her seat and nodded. She put her pen down and pushed the chair back from the table of monitors. She motioned for John to take her seat. He did and when he sat, he wasn't quite prepared for the images he saw on the monitors. Anthea in the meantime had crossed the room to Mycroft and updated him on Sherlock's condition while he had been away.

Thank god John had been seated when he got his first glimpse of the living, still breathing detective. He had thought he'd been ready for it after seeing the pictures and reading Anthea's reports, but he was sorely mistaken. Nothing could have prepared him, nothing. It was as simple as that.  All the air left his lungs and his head spun. His stomach lurched and it was just wrong. It was all wrong. This couldn't be Sherlock. Not his Sherlock, the brilliant detective that still haunted his dreams and memories even though he gave the outside world the appearance of moving on. He reached out, ran his fingers over the image on the screen where the ghost of the man he once knew sat huddled in a corner shaking uncontrollably. God, that would be an imaged forever burned in his brain, just like the one of a bloodied, lifeless Sherlock on the sidewalk outside of Bart's. He bowed his head.

‘Oh Sherlock,’ John whispered as the tears finally fell. 

Mycroft never took his eyes of the monitors as Anthea filled him in on the current situation. He was slipping. Sherlock was retreating further and further into his mind as his body wasn’t able to deal with the pain, lack of food and sleep and fever anymore. They needed to do something and fast.

John’s broken sob made Mycroft focus on the doctor sitting in one of the chairs, his hand still pressed to the screen.

Ah. There it was. Belief.

Mycroft nodded briefly at Anthea and she left the room, giving both men some privacy. As John sobbed Mycroft moved to stand behind him but he said nothing. An apology for what had been done would never be enough and Mycroft seriously doubted if John would accept any other form of comfort from him.

So he simply let him cry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock come face to face for the first time, but is it real?

Sherlock’s head shot up when he heard a door opening.

_They're back._

_John? Did they already have John? Why couldn't he hear him fighting? Was he already dead?_

Sherlock’s stomach rolled and clenched dangerously but he swallowed down the bile that rose up in his throat.  _No. His John would never stop fighting. Always a soldier._

The coldness of the wall against his back grounded him a little – it hurt, but at least that would keep him awake, he could handle pain – and he pressed himself even closer into the corner. He tried to focus on his surroundings but the colours danced in front of his eyes, leaving him with nothing to focus on but the whirlwind of shapes.

_I can hear._  
_Footsteps._  
_Wait. That gait. That was…_

‘Myc?’

‘Yes, Sherlock. I’m here.’ Mycroft’s voice had an immediate effect on him. His muscles relaxed and he let out a shaky breath. As long as Mycroft was here, no one would come. He wouldn’t let them. And he certainly wouldn’t allow John to be brought here. He had promised to keep him safe.

No. Not one gait. Two. Man’s, heavy, hesitant. Familiar yet altered.

‘Why can’t I see properly?!’ he growled out in frustration and he heard his brother take a deep breath. Strange. Normally was calmer.

‘You’re sick, Sherlock. You need help.’

 _No. Nonononono this was wrong. A trick! Mycroft wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here. He was still in Serbia! Drugs. They drugged him. That’s why he couldn’t see. That’s why he thought his brother was here._  Sherlock pressed himself hard against the wall, letting the pain fuel his body so he could push himself up a little. ‘Go away! You’re not my brother, get out!’

‘Sherlock…’

Sherlock froze. That voice. It couldn’t be… Sherlock could practically feel the ugly woollen jumpers under his fingers again, could taste the tea at the mere sound of that voice. So real. So hurt.

_Shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right…you could…stop it now…no, don’t…Sherlock!_

'No...' he breathed out, his eyes searching for the source of that voice. _Please, please let it be real_ , he begged, not knowing if he said the words out loud or not. _Please let John be safe. Let John be here. Here. Not Serbia._

_No. Mycroft, he was there too but he got me out. London. Home. John?_

~~~~~

John had gone into the room leaving all his hopes and expectations in the observation room. His best option was to take things as they came.

He was relieved at first when Sherlock recognised Mycroft's voice and responded to it favourably, but then something in his mind changed his perception and agitated him - made him think that this wasn't Mycroft.

John crouched down to his level, but keeping a safe distance between them for now.

'Sherlock...' John called out softly, not wanting to startle Sherlock any more than he already was.

'No...' he cried out, his head shot up, eyes searching for the source of the voice, arms reaching out hesitantly, against his will.

John moved forward a bit, reached out his own hand to take Sherlock's. 'It's me Sherlock. I'm here. You're safe now.' God, the heat was radiating off his trembling hands. John knew he had to be swift with whatever he was going to do because Sherlock needed medical attention before this fever permanently damaged his brain. John needed to get things moving, but realised he had to proceed carefully.

Sherlock lifted his eyes, searching for the sound of John's voice. John realised Sherlock was having difficulty seeing, so he reached out his other hand and covered Sherlock's hand that he held. 'I'm here. You can hear me, yea? But not see too well? You've got a high fever. I can feel it in your hands. You're shaking. It's why you can't see right. The reason why you hurt all over. Will you let me help you? Let me make you better?'

Sherlock alternated between shaking his head yes and no. John could tell Sherlock wanted to believe him, but knew why he was having difficulty.

John tried another angle. 'Remember what you told Lestrade the night of our first case? That only a fool argues with his doctor?'

Sherlock nodded meekly.

'Then will you allow your doctor to help you?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's lack of eyesight is caused by the fever, his injuries and his malnutrition.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reaches out to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again we want to thank everyone for reading, leaving kudos and commenting. You guys are making our days so insanely bright! Thank you!

When Sherlock felt cool fingers encircle his before grabbing his hand, he wanted to recoil. To throw them off.  
This was his chance to get out!  
  
But the touch felt achingly familiar and John's warm voice was like a balm on his nerves, forcing his mind to think. Properly. Instead of cowering away in fear.   
  
_John._  
  
John was holding his hand. Talking to him. Soothing him with his doctor's voice. But something was wrong in that tone. It was too heavy, too gritty.   
  
_Fever?_  
  
Yes. The shivering, the alternating between hot and cold. The pain...he had been tortured. Mycroft got him out! Now John was here - or at least he hoped it was John. If it was an illusion his mind had come up with he never wanted it to go away. This John was offering him help. He always helped.   
  
But Sherlock could still feel his heart racing in his chest and his mind was screaming at him to run. Not to trust these friendly apparitions. Surely they were a ploy to lull him back, so they could hurt him even more.   
  
_Only a fool argues with his doctor._  
  
At those words Sherlock's mind stopped, before flooding him with the memories of night night. The cabbie. The pill. John saving his life. Their giggles in the hallway of 221 Baker Street. The moment where Sherlock had ceased to be merely alone and had made a friend.   
  
His fingers were trembling as he moved them, grasping the hand - John's hand - now firmly into his own. John. He was here. He was safe.

Mycroft watched in amazement as every single muscle in Sherlock's body seemed to relax as he worked it out. Slowly, Sherlock calmed down, sinking down the wall again until he was seated on the floor, John's hand still in his. Mycroft knew that separating them now would be impossible.   
  
Sherlock tried to bring the hand closer to him, to pull him to him so he could see, but the strength drained from his body.

'John,' he breathed out as if in prayer. He shaking his head a little, trying to clear his vision but his body would no longer listen. 'It hurts...please...'

It was true. The pain in his back was agonising and every single muscles ached and trembled with fever. His stomach clenched on nothing and a sharp headache suddenly hit him behind his eyes. 

John sighed in relief as he watched the change wash over Sherlock mentally and physically. His heart was breaking at the struggle Sherlock had ahead of him - one John knew all too well - but John would be here to help him through it. John would always be there for Sherlock. 

He felt Sherlock trying to pull him closer, so he dropped to his knees and scooted as close as Sherlock would allow him. He let Sherlock pull his hand close to his stomach and he hushed him as Sherlock cried out in pain.

‘I know it hurts. It's the fever, you have some kind of infection raging through your body. You'll let me help you, yea?’ John took his free hand and brought it to Sherlock's forehead. Christ, he was on fire. He let his hand brush his face and come to rest on his cheek, his thumb brushing Sherlock's cheek. ’I'm going to take care of you, get you better.’

Sherlock nodded in agreement and had opened his eyes once again, they were still straining, searching for John, trying to find him and focus on him. John noticed. ’Hey, close your eyes, it's probably making the pain in your head worse. Now, how bout we get you up off this floor and into a bed so you can rest and I can make you better?’ He tried to move back, but Sherlock's grip on him tightened as he was starting to panic. John stopped, let his arm wrap around Sherlock and pulled him close. ’Shhh, I'm not going anywhere Sherlock. I just want to get you more comfortable so you can rest better. You need it, your body - yes your damn transport needs it. Let me help. I won't leave your side, I promise.’

Sherlock could have sobbed in relief at the feeling of John's hand against his cheek if his body hadn't been so worn out already. John was here with him. Safe.   
Finally.   
  
But when he felt John move closer and wrap his arm around him, brushing his back, he tensed. Jaws clenched, eyes squeezed shut, anything to prevent the scream that welled up in his throat from escaping.   
  
_God, it hurts so much._  
  
But suddenly there was another voice speaking to him, asking him to calm down, to let them help him. It was softer than Sherlock could remember hearing from Mycroft since a long time and it had been even longer since he had heard that voice speak French.   
He felt Mycroft's proximity to him before he felt his hands, working together with John to lift him off the floor.   
  
He wanted to scream and move away from them, but he let out a shaky breath before sucking in another deep gulp. John was helping. He had promised.   
  
Sherlock never let go of John's hand as he and Mycroft moved his to lie on his belly on the bed.   
'To relieve your back, Sherlock,' Mycroft's voice said soothingly as he tried to turn his head. He was losing control of the room. What if they came in and Mycroft and John were too busy with him? What if they...  
  
'Hush Sherlock, we're safe. We're in London. You did it. They're gone. Every last one of them.' Mycroft's hand was in his hair now and Sherlock sighed deeply, forcing himself to relax again. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Sherlock allows treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of medical treatment administered to Sherlock, nothing to descriptive or graphic, but best skipped if it bothers you. You won't lose much to the story line other than Sherlock allowing himself the treatment he needs to get better.

There was no easy way to move Sherlock from the floor to the bed without causing him pain and John hated every moment of it, but he needed to change his focus now that Sherlock was allowing himself the care he needed.  

Once they got him arranged on the bed and calmed again, John set out to do a cursory examination.  Even before getting a look at his back, he knew exactly where the infection was coming from, he could tell from the stains on the back of the shirt where the wounds had seeped, some parts of the shirt were damp, other parts dried over, in any event, he needed to get it removed and start treatment, but first he needed to get Sherlock to agree to what he wanted to do.

He waited until Mycroft was finished comforting Sherlock, before he sat on the side of the bed and leaned down to talk softly in Sherlock's ear.  He knew he was going to have to explain in detail what he wanted to do before Sherlock would even consider letting him continue so he started his explanation slowly.

"Sherlock, I'd like to start an IV.  You need fluids and a strong antibiotic to help get rid of the infection running through you.  I also need to treat your back which means I need to remove your shirt.  The easiest way is going to be to cut it off.  I'm going to have to soak parts of it off because I can tell by looking at it that it's dried on.   I also need to scrub them good.  I'm not going to lie.  It's most likely going to be painful. I can give you something for the pain before I start, that way it won't hurt as much and it will also help you rest which you desperately need." 

‘No!’

The protest was out before Sherlock could stop himself. ‘No drugs,’ he clarified.

Despite the fever and the pain making him mad it was the one thing he could truly focus on right now. The one thing to remind him that all of this was here. Real. Drugs would muddy everything, make him dream, see things that weren’t there. Not now, God please, not now

‘Please John…just…’

Sherlock tried to tighten his hand around John’s but he was just too exhausted.

Meanwhile Anthea quietly slipped into the room, making sure that Sherlock wasn’t aware of her presence, the required materials already in her hands. Mycroft had had everything ready to go since the moment he and Sherlock arrived here and he had hoped that with John’s arrival they could finally use it to help his brother.

Mycroft said nothing but the look of gratitude wasn’t missed by his assistant. She nodded briefly, placing the equipment – two IV bags, one with a simple saline solution to replenish fluids and another, smaller one, with a broad-spectrum antibiotics, a clean line and needle, fresh bandages and many more items Mycroft couldn’t see – on a small table in the corner of the room, before leaving.

Mycroft moved away from the bed – Sherlock didn’t even notice him leaving – to bring the table closer to John. 

John squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly and shushed him. 'It's ok..shhh...'He ran his other hand over Sherlock's forehead, brushing the damp curls back. 'OK, none for now, but if it gets too bad, just a bit. OK?' Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head in agreement.  

He looked over all the items on the table when it was finally beside him, happy to see everything there he needed. He leaned in again, 'Sherlock, I'm going to start the IV now. I'm going to use this hand.' He squeezed the one he held. John waited for Sherlock to acknowledge that he heard and he was aware of what John was going to do. He quickly got everything ready, cleaned the back of his hand with an alcohol swab and got the needle ready. 'Sharp prick,' and within seconds, the IV was in and ready to be taped down and attached to the tubing. Sherlock never flinched, the exhaustion catching up with him. John discarded the refuse and hooked the two bags onto the pole and started the drip. One down one to go.

He noticed Sherlock shiver as the fluids worked their way into his arm. 'It will be a bit cold until you get used to it. Sorry.'  He frowned and gently rubbed his hand over Sherlock's forearm for a few moments to calm him before moving to his back.  This next part was going to be the worst. 'Sherlock, I’m going to start on your back now.'  

John waited but Sherlock hadn't moved and his eyes were closed so he continued slowly. It was likely he finally succumbed to his body’s dire need for rest and passed out. This was a good thing, a blessing in disguise because John knew the next part was going to be unpleasant without any pain medication. He asked Mycroft to go get a few bottles of water and a few towels before he began the next part. When Mycroft returned, he set the towels on the bed next to him and the bottles of water on the table. 

'You may want to stay close to calm him if need be, but I do think he's down for the count. At least I hope so, just in case I'm going to get a small dose of pain medication ready just in case. I won't use it unless absolutely necessary, but if it gets too bad, I don't want him to suffer any longer than necessary.'

Mycroft merely nodded and pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, taking a seat and placing his hand on Sherlock's arm. John quickly moved everything he needed to the side of the bed for quick retrieval and set to work. He cut the shirt in several strips, removing the free pieces swiftly and gently. The three that were left, he moistened using the water bottle and let them soak for several minutes before gently working the material loose and disposing of it in the waste container. He was displeased with what he saw but he was relieved because the bits that were infected could have been much worse. It was five spots in total and they were easy to clean and contain now with topical creams as well as the antibiotics coursing through his veins. Luckily Sherlock stayed quiet and immobile while John thoroughly cleaned his entire back. Normally he would have liked to bandage his back, but there was just no logical way to accomplish that at the moment so he just let his back as it was.  

John disposed of all the trash and the syringe of pain medicine that he did not need and pushed the table away from the bed. He checked the IV settings and was happy with what he saw.  He let out a sigh and looked at Mycroft.  

'I think you should take advantage of this. He is resting comfortably and you look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in I don't know how long. Go, rest up, eat something, and take care of anything that you need to.  I imagine he's going to be out for quite some time. I will stay here with him and keep an eye on him."

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but then decided against whatever he was going to say. He didn't normally take orders from others but the doctor made some very good points. He did need rest and he was starving.  He finally felt calm and secure enough about Sherlock's current state to do something about both. He nodded and spoke now. 'Anthea will be right...'

'Outside in the other room observing. I know Mycroft. Tell her we will be fine and to have the next set of bags for the IV ready in an hour. He'll be fine, I'll make sure of it.' John waved him off and turned his focus back to Sherlock.

Mycroft looked at the resting form of his brother once more before rising and heading for the door. Half way to the door, he turned back towards John. 'John, Thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude.'

John kept himself from rolling his eyes.  'I didn't do this for you. I did this for Sherlock.'  

Mycroft allowed himself a small lift of the corner of his mouth at John’s words. ‘I know,’ he said knowingly. ‘Which was precisely the reason why I turned to you in the first place. Do alert me if there are any changes. And again, thank you John.’

And with that he left the room, leaving the doctor and his brother alone.

Mycroft was halfway to the privacy of his own rooms in this compound when he heard Anthea come up behind him. Terrified that something had happened to Sherlock, he froze and turned to her. 

‘Sir? I’m sorry to disturb, but…’

‘What is it?’

‘Miss Morstan, sir.’ Mycroft felt his shoulders sag in relief when Anthea explained that Mary Morstan had not relented in her calls to John’s mobile phone – Mycroft had made sure no calls would actually go through. They couldn’t afford the distraction.

‘Tell her, her fiancé is working for me on a private matter and will resume contact with her shortly. Now Anthea, I am under the orders of Doctor Watson to get some rest and something tells me, I will need it.’

'Of course sir.'


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock fights the demons of his own head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a short one, sorry!

Sherlock knew he was dreaming. He hadn’t been to Baker Street in years and yet he found himself there. He could hear John moving in the kitchen – making tea judging by the sounds – but Sherlock found himself incapable of moving. That was alright. John would come to him. He always did.

And he was right. There he was, two mugs of tea in hand, a smile on his face. He was wearing that ridiculous beige jumper but right now Sherlock wanted to do nothing more than to bury his face in the soft fabric and wrap his arm around him. John opened his mouth to say something but an insistent knock on the front door – wait, that was impossible, they weren’t able to hear someone knocking downstairs – interrupted him.

 

Without a word, John sat down the mugs of tea, just out of reach, and went downstairs. Sherlock could feel his stomach clench in fear. This was wrong. Something was wrong and why couldn’t he move?! He needed to go to John. Stop him from opening the front door…

‘Well, this is turn-up, isn’t it Sherlock?’

_No. No, God please no!_

Suddenly  _he_ was there, a manic smile on his face. John was in front of him, on his knees – _why wasn’t he fighting! Stand up John! Please!_ – a gun pressed to the back of his head. ‘I told you how this would end, Sherlock. But you didn’t listen did you? Your dear pet will die, unless you do.’

Sherlock couldn’t speak, his tongue was frozen in his mouth and no matter how hard he fought, his muscles refused to listen to him. He stared in horror, as John lifted his head and looked at him with nothing but contempt and anger. Blaming him!

The shot echoed through the flat and Sherlock screamed as he saw the bullet pass through John’s brain. His ears were ringing as he kept screaming John’s name over and over again and he didn’t realise he was awake until he felt the pain in his body flare up again. 


	13. Chapter 13

With Mycroft's departure, John allowed himself to relax a bit. He stayed seated on the bed for about fifteen minutes to assure himself that Sherlock would stay asleep, before rising from the spot and pulling one of the recliners to the side of the bed. That was something John would never get used to, when it came Mycroft arranging things, there was never any expense spared. He put the chair flush against the side of the bed and settled in to watch over Sherlock. After the initial check to make sure the IV was still running correctly and that Sherlock was comfortable, John turned his attention to simply just watching Sherlock's sleeping form. He didn't really need to as he was right there, but he wanted to. Everything had happened so fast that it was now just sinking in. Sherlock really was alive and here. 

John knew the cameras were running but he didn't care. He took this time to just look at Sherlock, it was a rare thing to be able to just watch the detective in this state, one where he wasn't watching back, deducing your every thought. What John saw now broke his heart. Sherlock's body had been completely ravished. There wasn't a single spot on him that hadn't been somehow affected by his two year 'death'. John felt a few pangs of guilt as he remembered some of Mycroft's words - _he did this for you_. It was going to be a long, hard recovery and John prayed that he had the strength somewhere inside him to pull through it.  It was one thing to have your body damaged, it was a totally different thing to have your mind broken. But John would do whatever he could to help Sherlock recover, no matter what or how long it took. 

That reminded him, his phone had been awfully quiet ever since he left the clinic earlier in the afternoon. He fished the phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen. No calls, no messages. Odd. Then it occurred to him, Mycroft probably hand some hand in it and decided that whatever story Mycroft had cooked up and fed to the clinic was fine with him, he would just need to know what it was to play along. God, it had been so long since he had to come up with excuses or explanations for missing work due to Sherlock. He smiled at the memory of some of their wilder adventures. He missed those days. He idly wondered if he'd ever get the chance to see times like those again now that Sherlock was back. John was sure they would, Sherlock would pull through this, John would make sure of it. Now that Sherlock was back, John was not going to lose him again.

It's amazing how time can pass when you're lost in your thoughts, which is probably how John missed the growing agitation in Sherlock's sleeping body as the hours passed by. Sherlock had been asleep approximately four hours when the nightmare struck - his body going rigid as he pushed himself up off the mattress and John's name, a scream tearing through his lips and echoing through the room. Sherlock whipped around wildly searching for him. John sat up immediately, reaching out for him, trying to calm him and bring him back to the present.

Sherlock was shaking as his hands finally found John's face and pulled him close. 

When Sherlock felt the hands trying to touch and his first instincts were to fight them off. His vision still swam in front of his eyes making it impossible for him to identify whoever it was that was touching him.   
  
_I just needed to get away! I need to get back, I will kill them, kill them all, if they had dared to harm John...John...those hands. That voice!_  
  
_John!_  
  
Sherlock's heart hammered in his chest as the broken images from several hours before came back to him. But the nightmare still caused his stomach to turn and _I can't see, why can't I see?_  
  
Ignoring the pain in his body, Sherlock forced his hands up - _God they felt so heavy!_ \- to try and find - _ah there it was_. John's face felt cool to his touch and for a moment Sherlock wanted to scream.   
John wasn't cool! He was warmth and comfort and warm tea and jumpers, with the sun still in his hair and skin.   
  
Sherlock's trembling fingers searched desperately for any sign that his dream had been real. Any sign that would tell him his plan had failed. But he found none.  
No bullet wounds, no blood seeping through his fingers. He was fine. All safe.   
'John,' he sighed out in relief as he forced his body to calm. 

John kept his voice calm and steady, didn't raise it for the fear of upsetting Sherlock further. 

‘Sherlock, it's ok, you're safe.’ John reassured him while keeping some distance until he could properly assess Sherlock's demeanour. His main concern wasn't his safety, but Sherlock's. As soon as he realised Sherlock was still having difficulty seeing and was searching for him, he moved closer and leaned into Sherlock's hands, helping Sherlock find him.

John had to keep his emotions in check, especially when he realised why Sherlock was running his fingers all over his face, the back of his head, and through his hair. Sherlock finally calming as he pulled John's forehead to his and resting them together. John's name, the only sound now falling from his lips.

John couldn't help himself, he slowly brought his hands up to Sherlock's face, cradling his cheeks, letting his thumbs soothingly rub his cheeks. ’I'm here. I'm safe. No one can get to us. I promise.’  It broke John's heart that Sherlock had to go through this but he was relieved as he felt Sherlock's body relax as he felt and heard proof of John's safety. ’Come now, let's get you settled.’ he said trying to pull back from Sherlock to coax him into lying back down. ’ You still need rest and if you get yourself worked up, you'll make yourself sicker and we don't want that. The calmer I can keep you, the faster, you'll get back to yourself ok?’ 

‘No John, you have to stay,’ Sherlock said franticly when he felt John push him back down on the bed. ‘He shot you. He was going to shoot you unless I jumped. I can’t…I didn’t die. I won’t have him kill you, John, please, don’t leave.’

Sherlock kept on babbling as his hands tried desperately to keep John close to him. He couldn’t lose him now, not after everything, not after he had finally found him again. It would have all been for nothing. All the pain and hardship that he had been forced to suffer the past two years, it would have all been worth it as long as John stayed safe.

John was stunned at the stunned by the admission Sherlock had made. He knew his life had been in danger from what Mycroft had said, he just really hadn't given thought to the actual extent of it. That day was beginning to become clearer now after all this time, but that was something he would pick apart later in more detail. Right now he needed to focus on getting Sherlock settled before he worked himself into such a frenzy that he would need to be sedated just a bit before he put too much strain on his already weakened heart.

‘Sherlock, we are safe. You are safe. He's gone.’ John soothed, he kept from using Moriarty's name, knowing the reaction it would provide if he did. ’I'm not going to leave. Ok?’ Sherlock was clutching his arm now, and trying to pull him closer. It was no use, John feared that he would have to go against both Mycroft and Sherlock's wishes and sedate him for just a bit until an idea crossed his mind. 

He rose from his chair and moved closer to the bed, let Sherlock 'pull' him closer. When Sherlock realised that John wasn't resisting, his posture changed entirely. He calmed as John got closer, his grip loosening and his breathing slowing.  John knew, what he'd have to do now and he didn't think twice about it. With his free hand, he nudged Sherlock over to the other side, making enough room for them both. He made sure that the IV tubes were out of the way and took the empty space next to Sherlock. 

‘Sherlock, I promised you I wasn't leaving.’ He said, voice low. He knew Sherlock still couldn't see clearly, but he knew the detective had sensed dip on the bed and proximity between them now shortened. He reached back up, placing his hand back onto Sherlock's cheek, ‘I'm with you on this until the end. I've got you. Now lie down here with me. You need to rest. Please.’

At any other given moment Sherlock would have been shocked at the notion that John would crawl into bed with him. But now, with his mind being altered with pain and fever, he latched on, pressing himself as close as possible to John's shape.   
He wasn't letting him go anymore. He had come so close to losing him - and had several times over in his nightmares.   
  
Sherlock felt his body and head calm immediately at John's proximity and his muscles felt heavy with exhaustion. His hand had found the soft material of John's jumper and he held on tightly. Before he could utter another word, he succumbed to sleep. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes an assessment of Sherlock's over all health.

John knew it hadn't been five minutes before Sherlock fell back to sleep, but he was relieved. He hadn't really wanted to resort to any kind of sedation either because it would have still strained his weakened heart, but not as much as letting Sherlock getting worked up over his dreams. As they lay there, John started cataloguing the things that needed to be done. First and foremost, getting rid of the fever and the infection under control. Then when that was accomplished, he wanted more tests run, new ones. They had only run the necessities to clear him for travel and immediate danger, but he wanted more done. He wanted to make sure they didn't miss anything.

He thought ahead to ruling everything out, brain damage, organ failure or damage, his eye sight, and blood borne diseases or sicknesses, god alone knew the true extent of the conditions he was kept in. He hadn’t seen anything about that in the reports and Mycroft hadn't specified, but John had been through war, seen good men succumb to treatable diseases that had been over looked because they hadn't been checked for anything other than the obvious. Well he has not about to let that happen to Sherlock so he began mentally making a list of the tests he wanted done. Though the antibiotics that were pumping through him right now would pretty much take care of most things, better safe than sorry.

After all that was done and they made it through this, next would be the hardest part. They would have to address his mental state. John was certain it extended beyond just being induced from the fever and the infection, though it was definitely worse at the moment due to them. He knew once that Sherlock was feeling more like himself, he would not consent to staying at the facility they currently found themselves in. John really couldn't blame him. He would want to be home himself -  _ **oh**_....

Well, there was a problem. Baker Street was no longer his home. No matter, Sherlock wouldn't object to him moving back. He looked down at the detective who was now resting peacefully due to being sprawled half on top of him.  His hand clutching the oatmeal jumper he wore, the very same one from the night Sherlock told Mrs. Hudson that they'd be needing the room upstairs. John smiled at the memory, he once thought Sherlock had been lost to him forever yet here he was, in his arms no less. He'd - no they, they would be back home at Baker Street soon enough, sorting out the rest of Sherlock's health issues and work on getting things settled between them, because yes, even though John was glad to have Sherlock back, he still had a lot to answer for. He wasn't getting off the hook that easy but there was a time and place for everything. He smiled at the thought of returning to Baker Street for good even though he had been there several hours ago and then it occurred to him...

Surely she would understand that he would need to do this, to take care of Sherlock. Moreover, he had promised. Well, she would have to accept it because Sherlock was part of his life. A BIG part of his life. She knew, she was aware of that. She saw how he had grieved, he was stilling grieving... but no more. Sherlock was here and he was alive. Sherlock lives, meant John Watson lives. She would have to understand or he would have to choose and the choice was simple. He just hope it didn't have to come to that. He pushed it from his mind. He would deal with that later. No use trying to predict what may or may not happen.

Sherlock felt his senses coming back online before he realised he was waking up. He was warm. But not uncomfortable so. Instead of the heat he had grown accustomed to, this was a gentler warmth. Similar to the comfort of his own bed back in Baker Street.

His hands were clutching something soft – wool? – but a sharp pain in one of his hands prevented him from moving them.

Sherlock could feel his head pounding and his mouth tasted sour and he wanted to do nothing more than to simply drift off again. But the pain had woken him up and was determined not to let him sleep again.

It was only then that he realised that whatever it was he was lying upon had a heartbeat. A heartbeat Sherlock knew.

Sherlock would have waved away the event from hours before as a dream if not for the tangible evidence underneath him. Carefully, Sherlock opened his eyes and he was greeted with the sight of John Watson looking down on him with a soft smile. 

'John...you're...' The words escaped him as quickly as he could feel his stomach sinking. John was here. John knew he was alive. Yet he was still here! 

‘I'm here,’ John whispered at him smiling. He knew Sherlock's head must still be fuzzy and swimming with a ton of questions, so he decided to just start at the beginning. He kept his voice low and steady, just between them, ‘You're safe. You're home, in London. Now just listen to me and I will go over everything and then you can ask anything you want.’

Sherlock peered up at him with wide, unsure eyes and nodded. He flexed the hand that had the IV in it and John rubbed over it lightly with his thumb. There was a bit of swelling, he made a mental note to check on it later to make sure it wasn't bothering Sherlock. He also glanced at the bag making sure it wasn't in need of changing before he continued, plenty of time for them to talk, well more like Sherlock to listen, without worrying about that.

‘It's been almost two weeks since Mycroft got you out. You've been incoherent for the most part, due to the infection and fever, but that seems to be clearing now that we were able to get the antibiotics started.’ He put his hand to Sherlock's forehead, ‘Your fever seems to be dissipating as well, so that's good news. That means they're working. From what I understand, it was pretty touch and go for a while, you were very combative. They had to sedate you and Mycroft didn't want to make that the norm. That's why Mycroft brought me in. Good thing too, I don't know how much longer...’ John's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. No reason to be thinking things like that now.

‘Until I can look over you completely myself, I can't tell you the full extent of your injuries. The doctors that have examined you so far, well their exams were only to clear you enough to get you home, make sure the trip wouldn't endanger your life. So far the list includes malnourishement from starvation, I'm certain you've sustained several concussions though I would like to run some tests to see if there are any lasting effects. Your back is the worst. That's where the infection stems from, the numerous of lacerations there, but now that I've had a chance to treat them, I believe they'll heal nicely although there will be some scarring. Your entire body for the most part has been battered and bruised, again, not sure of the full extent, but now that you seem to be coherent and with me, we can work on determining that.’

He stopped there, not want to bring up his mental state, not yet anyway, not until it was necessary. The physical abuse was enough to take in as it was, they'd start tackling the mental abuse once they were on more solid ground. 

Sherlock couldn’t help but stare at John as the other man continued to talk. He hardly heard any of the words John said – the fact that John was here, with him, touching him, was more than enough to halt his brain.

He was still feeling groggy and he could feel the shivers from the exhaustion and remnant of fever run through his frame. His back felt like it had been set on fire – Sherlock could feel the pressure of the infection under his skin and the sharp pains of the lacerations – and he felt tired. Exhausted.

Yet closing his eyes wasn’t an option. John was here. Talking to him. Holding him.

Slowly, John’s words registered in Sherlock’s brain –  _oh, you’re so very slow, aren’t you Sherlock?_ He frowned at the biting voice in his head and struggled to refocus on John.

‘Mycroft…’ Sherlock croaked. God, he sounded awful. ‘Mycroft called you here? He told you? That wasn’t…’

Oh. Wait. John had explained. He had refused help. He was wounded, hurt, malnourished. Mycroft would not have had a choice. And they were safe now. Serbia had been the last side of the puzzle. He had been so close to returning to London on his own. 

John could see the struggle in Sherlock's eyes, a mix of confusion not helped by the exhaustion he must certainly be experiencing. His fingers found his way into Sherlock's hair again, finding his scalp and rubbing slightly with the pads of his fingers to soothe him. He could feel Sherlock leaning into his touch, he smiled.

‘Sherlock, it's ok. It's all over now. I don't know if you remember, but it's over. You beat him. He's gone. Serbia was the last bit and you took care of it. It's over. What we need to focus on now is you. I'll take care of you. I'm your doctor and we will get through this together. Get you back home to Baker Street where you belong. I'm not going to lie. It's not going to be easy and it could take a long while until things get back to normal, but you won't be alone. I'll be there with you every step of the way, as long as you want me there.’

He met Sherlock's eyes. ’How do you feel? Do you hurt anywhere? Do you think I can do a cursory exam now, maybe get a better sense of where things stand?’

Sherlock froze for a moment when he felt John’s hand in his hair but it didn’t take long for him to relax into the touch. Oh what he wouldn’t give for John to keep doing this. For a moment, he could pretend. He could pretend that they were back at Baker Street, that he had never left, that they were closer than they had ever been. Just a simple slow night in their living room.

But all too soon, John broke the illusion.

The pain came rushing back to him and he couldn’t quite help the pained groan that escaped him as he shifted his weight a little. ‘My back,’ he hissed.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is not fine and John finally talks to Mary.

A sudden knock on the door made Sherlock flinch. He could feel his heart racing and the sudden rush of adrenaline left him tense. Sherlock moved away from John, desperate for a position that would protect both him and John. But the pain made his movements slow and he struggled to bite through it. 

Mycroft entered the room unusually slow, as if giving Sherlock time to back away. Sherlock's abrupt withdrawal startled John. ’Hey, hey! Not so fast, it's ok.’ John wasn't sure why Sherlock was moving so fast, if it's because he was still not totally in the present or because of their close proximity. When he saw it was Mycroft, he figured it was the latter.

He quickly extracted himself from under Sherlock. ’Here, stay on your stomach for now.’ John ordered. He didn't want to draw any attention to Sherlock's apparent discomfort.

Mycroft approached the bed and sighed looking down at Sherlock. ’How's he doing?’ he asked quietly.

‘A bit better,’ John replied, fiddling with the IV machine. He was waiting for the snide comments, but there were none, so he continued. ’His fever seems to have dropped which means that the antibiotics are working. I'd like to check his back again and then perform another exam if he's up to it.’

Sherlock could feel his heart still racing as Mycroft entered the room. John moved away from him, carefully and Sherlock had to use every inch of his willpower not to grasp and hold on to him.   
  
With a sickening lurch to his stomach, Sherlock knew what he felt. Terror. A simple knock on the door had left him terrified. For one heart stopping moment, he thought he was back. 

 _Stupid. Slow. John told you Mycroft got you out. You should have heard it was Mycroft at the door. You should have..._  
'Sherlock?'  
  
Mycroft's voice interrupted his inner monologue and Sherlock tilted his head to look his older brother in the eye. 

'Would you mind if I stayed? To assist Dr. Watson.'  
_Assist? Oh. My back._

Sherlock gave a short nod, turning his head away again, hiding his face as he struggled to regain his calm.

John made quick work of looking over Sherlock's back, pleased with what he saw. He pressed gently around and over the infected spots, the swelling was going down and the heat they had been giving off wasn't quite as bad. He also made note that only two were seeping, but just minimally. Yes, this was very good indeed. Mycroft basically just stood by Sherlock's bedside, letting John work. John left the wounds uncovered and bent down next to Sherlock's ear, he had been looking away from John ever since Mycroft had entered the room. 

‘Do you think it would be ok to sit you up now so I can get a proper look at you?’ he asked gently.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow but kept silent, very keen to see what his brother's reply would be. It was true they had gotten this far but there were still many hurdles to jump over. His decision to let John examine him would be very telling. If he refused, Mycroft would have some very hard decisions to make, but if he allowed John to continue, there was hope he wasn't lost after all, that he could be Sherlock again.

Sherlock hid the way his hand grabbed the sheets underneath him as John prodded and cleaned the wounds on his back. It hurt. There was no question about that, but if it had just been the pain, he could have pushed through it. He was no stranger to pain after all. 

But right now, mind still reeling from the shock that Mycroft's simple knock on the door had caused, he felt tense and ready to run away. It was too much, his head felt like it was going to explode, his hand suddenly felt like it was on fire. Why did his chest suddenly feel so tight? 

_ John. John's hands. Not his. You're safe. Breathe, you idiot! _

'Sherlock?'

The sudden sound of his name close to his ear made him flinch and he could feel the hands on his back freeze. Mycroft's gaze felt heavy and Sherlock didn't need to look his brother in the eye to know that he deduced precisely what was going on.

'Sherlock...' Mycroft started and oh how Sherlock hated that knowing and condescending tone. He was fine!

After taking a deep breath, Sherlock moved. His muscles trembled with the exertion and he found himself in desperate need for their help. 

John threw a look at Mycroft that conveyed the words 'quiet or I will make you to leave.' Mycroft held his hands up and kept quiet after that. 

John let Sherlock have a few moments to rest after he was finished with his back, noticing the way the detective shook from the barest of movements. Normally he would have waited but he wanted to check a few things just to set his mind at ease. 

John let Mycroft help Sherlock into a sitting position and watch over Sherlock while he got what he needed ready. Thankfully everything was close at hand, on the table that Anthea had originally set up. 

He began with the easiest things first, temperature, blood pressure, pulse rate, listening to his heart and lungs which became a bit challenging when it came to his back, luckily Sherlock hung on long enough for him to get through it. 

He paused again after that, considering what to do next. He wanted to draw blood and check his eyes yet but he was concerned about shining any lift in his eyes without first warning him. He wasn't quite sure if any other techniques like sensory deprivation had been used to torture him, so he wanted to proceed carefully. 

'Sherlock, there are two things left I want to do. I want to draw some blood, which will be easy enough since it can be done through the IV. I also want to have a look at your eyes. Do you think you'd be ok with me shining a light in them? If not we can wait on that one a bit?’

As Sherlock sat, he watched John work, taking his time to let the data come to him and as he did, he felt the tightness in his chest dissolve. Two years. Two years they had been away from each other. Two years where Sherlock had been driven on by John's voice in his mind, urging him to hurry up. To stop being dead. He had nearly failed - Sherlock was no fool, he knew who much he owed Mycroft for intervening when he did - but now, they were here again.

He looked older, Sherlock noted. Not just from the added two years, but something more. Like a weight was lingering on his shoulders, dragging him down. There were new lines on his face - Sherlock took a note of every single one of them, wondering which were the ones he caused by jumping. But there was something - someone - new in his life as well. Sherlock could see it in the change of clothes - more stylish and expensive - the smell of his skin - lingering traces of a woman's perfume. Claire de la Lune. 

Girlfriend. 

Somehow that deduction made Sherlock's stomach roll. Before he had jumped and after that ordeal with the Woman, John had stopped dating. Sherlock had never admitted out loud but he was overjoyed to have John for himself. Now that was all over. 

'I can see fine,' Sherlock murmured, hoping John would let it drop. He just wanted it over and done with.

John had noticed a change in Sherlock’s demeanour as he finished the examination. He would have attributed it to exhaustion, but he knew Sherlock better. Sherlock had noticed something, something that he didn't care for and was trying to rush John into finishing. It unsettled John a bit because he couldn't figure out what had changed between them in a manner of ten minutes to warrant Sherlock shutting down like he was. He let it be as he drew two tubes of blood, setting them aside. 

When he was finished, he noticed Sherlock staring at the floor, unable or unwilling to look at him. ’Sherlock,’ John started a bit more sternly. He knew he said it could wait, but it would really make him feel better just to have one look at his eyes. ’Just one look, for me? Please?’ He asked, placing his hand under Sherlock's chin and bringing their eyes together for the first time in over two years. 

John would never forget what he saw in that moment -eyes that had always shone brilliant blue were now pained, hesitant, unsure of everything in the world. Lost. 

_ What am I missing? _

It shouldn’t affect him so. Staring straight into John’s eyes like that. It shouldn’t… _dammit!_

His body was betraying him. Sherlock could feel his stomach clench at the sight of John’s questioning gaze. He was worried, Sherlock could see that clear as day and he wanted nothing more than to eradicate that look from his eyes.

John had clearly moved on after his ‘death’ – and wasn’t that what he had wanted to happen? – and now he was being sucked into a life of concern and worry. John didn’t deserve that. Not after all that had happened. This look…it reminded him too much of the 24 hours before he jumped off of the roof of St. Bart’s and it made him sick.

John deserved better.

‘I’m just tired, John,’ he muttered, but John kept looking at him. ‘I’m fine.’

John made quick work of examining Sherlock's eyes, he was happy with what he saw, equal and reactive, but he still wanted a scan just to make one hundred percent sure nothing was going on beneath the surface. 

John also made note that even though Sherlock was attempting to avoid his questions and concern, he still leaned into to every touch.  It was like Sherlock was having some kind of internal struggle with himself, needing John close yet wanting to push him away at the same time. Well John had news for Sherlock, those times were over. He would make it clear. He'd stay and do whatever Sherlock needed as long as there were no more secrets between them. Now, how to convey all this without making a scene? First things first, he needed to be rid of Mycroft.

John turned back to the tray and made some notes on a slip of paper, then picked up the two tubes and handed them to Mycroft. ’Here can you see that this gets done. I've written instructions on the sheet. Also, can you arrange a CAT scan for some time soon? Tomorrow maybe? I want to be safe. Now, Sherlock needs rest and quiet, so if you'll excuse us, I'm sure you have plenty of things to do. I'm also sure you have Anthea watching so if anything changes, you'll know right away.’ John had begun ushering Mycroft to the door as he explained everything, main reason, he didn't want Sherlock listening to most of what he had to say. ’I think for the most part he's out of the woods, but this recovery will be long and the longer I can keep him listening to me without too much resistance, the better. Also, I assume you arranged it so that my phone can't accept calls or texts. I understand why, but I am going to need to make a few phone calls and explain myself.’

‘John, now is not the time to run out on Sherlock. I brou....’

‘I'm not running out on him. Not unless he forces me to and somehow I think that's the last thing he wants. But I would like to save us both some grief and a simple phone call will accomplish that.’

Mycroft nodded, ‘When you are ready to make that phone call, let Anthea know. She will make the arrangements. And John, please have the sense not to make the call in front of him, even if he's not awake.’

John looked at Mycroft. He was astounded, but it was typical Mycroft behavior. ’Mycroft, I'm not a complete fool you know. The phone call I wish to make is private and I'm hoping you will instruct your minions accordingly. I don't want anyone listening in. You can at least do that for me, as a thank you if nothing else.’

‘As I said John, just see Anthea when you're ready and she'll arrange everything.’

When John rejoined Sherlock, he noticed Sherlock picking at his nails. Nerves. He reached out and took Sherlock's hands in his, as their eyes met he began to speak.

‘Look I don't know what all is going on up there in that big gigantic brain of yours, but you need to try and shut it off for now. Your focus needs to be on getting better. I told you, I'm not going anywhere, so quit trying to push me away. And don't tell me you aren't because I know you Sherlock, I can see the beginnings of it. So just stop it. I've got you back, something I never thought possible and I'll be damned if I lose you again, not now.’

Sherlock watched John and Mycroft debating. Normally he would have been able to deduce what they were talking about but now his mind failed to make the connections.   
  
Two years. It had been too long.   
  
_I'll burn the heart out of you._  
  
Jim's voice in his head made him cringe. Was he right? By forcing Sherlock's hand, had he succeeded?   
  
Whatever John said, Mycroft did leave eventually and Sherlock choose not to look to deeply into the fact that he felt more relaxed now John was closer to him again. When John grabbed his hands, he couldn't help but to look up at him again.  
  
Clever John. He had always been better at reading Sherlock - people had done him no credit by calling him 'just' the blogger. 

His current condition was making it too hard to prevent his inner thoughts to be displayed on his face, so he let his shoulders sag in defeat. Sherlock held on to John's hand for a moment longer, before pulling himself away. He just needed to lie down for a minute. His body felt like had run for hours on end and Sherlock felt his mind shutting down in exhaustion.   
  
'This is not really how I imagined our reunion to go,' he admitted weakly. It wasn't the whole truth but it was enough. 

‘No, I'm sure it wasn't,’ John chuckled softly, his mind wondering a moment to envision how grandiose Sherlock could have made his return. He shook his head, ‘It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're here now and we're together. Now, you look like you can barely keep your eyes open, so how bout we get you back to resting? Then maybe later we can see about some actual food, well liquids anyway.’

A slight nod was all Sherlock could manage as John helped him back into a more comfortable position to rest. It only took moments for sleep to overtake Sherlock, but John allowed half an hour to pass before he rose from his recliner and walked to the door. He decided now was good as good a time as any to call Mary. He cringed at the thought, he knew she was going to be absolutely livid and well, he couldn't really blame her. He glanced at Sherlock one last time before exiting the room.

Anthea was consumed in paperwork and didn't hear John enter the observation room. He cleared his throat. The pen in her hand stopped moving as she looked up. ’Yes?’

‘Mycroft said that you could arrange me some privacy for a phone call?’

She nodded, ‘There's a room down the hall you may use and it will take me a few moments to remove the blocks from your number.’

John scowled. Even though he knew this had been done, he was still pissed about it. Having Sherlock in your life meant certain things were gone, the most important being a private life. 

‘If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay here just in case he wakes. It would be quicker for me to get back to him in that event. Not that I think the call I need to make will take that long,’ the last bit, he muttered more to himself than Anthea. 

She nodded. ’Give me five minutes and you'll be able to place your call. When you are finished I would appreciate you send a text to this number.’ She scribbled on some paper and handed it to John before gathering the rest of her things and disappearing from the room. He pocket the paper and let out a long sigh. He had five minutes to figure out what he was going to say to Mary. How the hell did you even begin to explain this?

_ Yea, you know the guy that wrecked my entire world by jumping off a building in front of me? Well, he's not really dead and he needs my help. _

Christ he was dreading this already. He dug out his phone from his pocket and tapped out Mary's number, took a deep breath and pressed send.

_ ‘John, thank God it's you. I've been so worried. It's been over twelve hours and not a word from you. I was going out of my mind. I mean they had said it was a family emergency and I couldn't reach Harry. My God, it's not her is it? John? _ ’

‘No Mary, God no it's not Harry.’ That might have been easier John thought to himself, how in the hell was he supposed to say this?

_ ‘Well then, I don't understand? If it's not Harry and both your parents are gone...’ _

‘It's Sherlock.’ He blurted. _Brilliant John, just brilliant._ He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was spiraling out of control fast. 

_ ‘I still don't understand,’ _ She said, her voice flat.

‘Look it's a really long and complicated story and I promise soon I will explain it all to you, but Sherlock's alive and hurt really bad and he needs me. I have to help him now. I know this is really bad timing with the engagement and all but I need to do this. To be here for him.’

Mary couldn't keep the shock from her voice, _’You're leaving me?’_

‘No, God, no!! I just, look. This conversation isn't going how I planned. Well, I didn't really have a plan for it. And there really is no easy way to explain all this. It's just Sherlock is hurt really bad and needs someone he trusts and feels comfortable with to take care of him, to help. That's why I'm here.’ 

_ ‘But John, if he's alive, doesn't that mean he's lied to you for two years, I mean how on Earth could you forgive him for something like that?’ _

‘Mary, I know how it sounds, but believe me there was a very good reason, else I wouldn't be here right now. Please believe me. Look, I need to get going, but I will call you back soon when I can talk more, I just wanted to let you know what was going on.’

John had been watching Sherlock through the glass the entire time and he could see the sleeping man becoming agitated. Another nightmare most likely. He needed to get off the phone and back into that room before Sherlock woke and panicked because he was alone again.

_ ‘Ok John, I trust you. Just please try and call me back sooner this time round.’ _

‘I will love, promise.’ 

Meanwhile on the other side of the glass, Sherlock cried out in his sleep, ‘No! John!’

John rushed into the room, next to Sherlock's side, sitting next to him on the bed trying not to startle him awake from the nightmare there by making in worse. He let his hands do the work. He began at the nape of his neck and ran his fingers through his hair with soft strokes until Sherlock calmed. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are going home...

The days passed far too slowly for Sherlock.

His body hurt too much for him to do anything during the times were he was fully awake and lucid. Expect to simply lie down and try and keep down whatever form of nutrition was provided for him. When he wasn’t awake, the vivid nightmares would plague him and if it had not been for the fact that John was right there next to him every time he woke up, he would have lost his mind already.

He hadn’t left. Not once. He ate together with Sherlock, showered when he was asleep, bandaged and took care of his wounds, slept in the same room as him. Not once did he leave his side and Sherlock would be eternally grateful for it. They were closer too. Touches were more easily given now – though Sherlock contributed that to the fact that John saw Sherlock solely as his patient now.

But things were not alright. Sherlock could see it in the way John would look at him while he thought Sherlock didn’t notice. John had questions. A lot of them and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was ready to answer them all. So John didn’t ask. They had always worked that way.

Sherlock knew John. He knew he would be angry at some point but for now, they both danced around the unspoken emotions.

Until John finally, two and a half weeks after they reunited, decided Sherlock had recovered enough to go back home. Baker Street. Sherlock could cry in relief at the prospect of seeing his home again. He was still hurt and the largest lashes on his back still hadn’t healed completely, but at least he would move around on his own again. The damned IV had been removed two days before and solid food no longer proved to be a problem. Sherlock knew he had a long way to go yet, but by God, he couldn’t wait to go home. 

The ride back to the flat was tense, and a day earlier than planned thanks to Sherlock's incessant winging. In the end John really couldn't blame him, but in their rush to get back to 221B, he was certain they had overlooked some things. 

'I don't see what the big fuss is John, you yourself said I was fine to go home,' Sherlock sighed annoyed when John's nervous energy started grating on his nerves.

'Yes Sherlock I did,' John snapped, 'but it would have been nice to have the remainder of today and tomorrow to get everything organised and ready. I mean the flat has been uninhabited for over two years and I don't have any of the things I need and as far as I know no one's said a word to Mrs. Hudson. The poor dear is likely to have a heart attack when we just show up on the door step.'

'Really John, she will be delighted to see me once the shock wears off. As for everything we need, I'm sure we can send one of Mycroft's minions out with a list.'

Anthea, who had been quietly listening to the exchange from the front seat turned around and interrupted them. 'Boys, please stop squabbling. If you had just asked, I can answer all your questions. When you cleared Sherlock, orders were sent out to have things ready. Doctor Watson, your things have been collected from your residence, and...'

'Wait,' John interrupted. 'What do you mean my things were already collected? You've been to my house?'

'Yes, and everything was handled with the utmost efficiency, taking only what was necessary. Nothing was disturbed.'

'But...’ he was about to go off on her but decided from the look she gave him to let it drop. As far as anyone was aware Sherlock was still unaware of John's current relationship status and it was silently agreed upon that it wasn't time to tell him yet. He sighed and allowed her to continue without interrupting her again.

'Now, as I was saying, all the necessary medical supplies are ready, and we've also tasked someone with the stocking your pantry. Also, a new wardrobe has been acquired for you Sherlock, at least for the interim. A team of men are waiting for us to arrive and then they will proceed to unload everything for you. The only thing that hasn't been done was informing Mrs. Hudson. The boss thought it would be better for you to do that in person.'

'Leave that to me,' Sherlock muttered as he replayed the current conversation over in his head again, trying to gleam more information out of it, but there was none.

By the time Anthea had finished going everything else, they had arrived at Baker Street. John turned to Sherlock, 'You ready for this?'

Sherlock quietly nodded. John looked at Anthea. 

‘Maybe you should direct everybody to wait until we've had a chance to talk to Mrs. Hudson.’ John suggested.

'If that's what you think best Dr. Watson.'

Sherlock felt nervous. He tried to hide it – he clenched his fists to prevent his fingers from trembling, he bickered with John, he pretended not to care about mrs. Hudson’s reaction once she’d see him – but his heart felt ready to pop out of his chest at the nearest opportunity.

Baker Street. Ever since he stepped of that roof, he had not once looked back. He made Mycroft promise to keep paying the rent – and a little extra – so their landlady would want for nothing during his time away. It was obvious that John had moved out of their flat – when and why precisely was unclear – and that fact had tilted Sherlock’s world. John had been the constant in his life. If he had moved on, what did that mean for the rest of his world?

Sherlock turned his to John when he started to protest about Mycroft’s minions ransacking his house. But John seemed to change his mind and held his tongue. Sherlock frowned. Not one mention of the woman in John’s life. During all those weeks, nothing. And Sherlock had been too afraid to ask. Why?

The uncertainty was maddening. John would leave; he would have to at some point. To go back to whatever woman was waiting for him. And then what? Would she allow John to spend with Sherlock? Go on cases with him? Or would she make him chose, like so many had done before her?

‘You ready for this?’

 John’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and he nodded quietly. Best to get this over with.


	17. Chapter 17

To say Mrs. Hudson was shocked was the understatement of the century. Yes, tears of joy fell and hugs ensued, but in the end, she was over the moon that Sherlock was alive and well though it certainly didn't keep her from admonishing John for how the young lad looked.

‘Well, if you ask me he's naught but skin and bones, even more so than usual. I mean you're a doctor, John. I would have thought you could have seen to it to fatten him up more than this.’ she gestured at Sherlock.

Sherlock just smiled and rolled his eyes as they stood in the foyer.

John tried to calm her nerves a bit, ‘Look Mrs. Hudson, this is actually better than what it was and he's still recovering. One can't rush these things, though I have no doubt now with you to help me, that we can have him back to his former self in no time.’ He winked at her. ‘Now, I think I should be getting Sherlock upstairs so he can rest and apparently there is quite an amount of things that need to be moved in, so there will be a constant stream of people in and out for a bit.’

‘You do that dear, get our lad here settled and I will be up as soon as I get some tea and biscuits ready. If you would have bothered to phone ahead, I could have had some nice warm scones waiting.’ she chided as she reached up and patted Sherlock's cheek, ‘but I guess I can forgive you this time.’ She finished with a wink. She turned to head back to her kitchen, but before she disappeared, ‘And boys, it's so nice to see you back together and home nevertheless.’

John shook his head at Mrs. Hudson's last statement as they made their way up the stairs, he was hoping things wouldn't turn sour when she found out this was only temporary and that he was only staying until Sherlock made a full recovery. So that thought on his mind, John made sure to keep his hand on Sherlock's lower back to steady him. The last thing either of them needed is him becoming wobbly on his feet and falling down the stairs.

Sherlock didn’t want to think too much on the hand John had pressed against his back to steady him, but how could he ignore the warmth that radiated through his clothes? He wanted to hesitate on the stair, increase the pressure for just a moment. But John would worry, he would perhaps insist on going back and Sherlock needed to be back home. With John. For as long as he possibly could. 

But when Sherlock opened the door and laid eyes on the living room of 221B again, he felt his legs turn to lead. Mrs. Hudson hadn’t changed a thing. She had dusted a bit, but not too much – precisely the amount he would have tolerated before, he noted quickly – and every single piece of furniture was still in place. Every book was still at the right place, his violin still on his chair. Oh his violin! How he had missed playing. 

Suddenly aware that John was still standing behind him, he took a deep breath and took his first careful step inside the flat. Home.

A tension that had settled in his muscles without his awareness, dissolved and he allowed himself a small smile. 

John's hand still rested on Sherlock's lower back as the entered the flat together. He could feel some of the tension leave Sherlock's body and a calm descending over him as his eyes took in the sight of the flat for the first time in over two years. John had to admit, it did feel good to be back. He nudged Sherlock towards the sofa.

‘How bout a bit of a rest yea? I'll just let Anthea know that the minions can start bringing everything up.’

While John was busy on the phone, Sherlock shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on a hook by the door. Instead of resting on the sofa as John suggested, he sat in his chair. Oh how he had longed for his chair while he was away, and the chair directly opposite of it. There was so much he missed and it was all brought into focus as John took to his own chair. 

‘Hopefully this won't take long, I don't enjoy having other people mucking about here, but I 'd rather have them do all the work while we just sit here.’ John offered.

Sherlock watched, silently, as other people moved around the flat to deliver whatever Mycroft and John deemed necessary. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He just wanted them gone for this place. He wanted…

John rose from his own seat again as one minion brought in the medical supplies. Sherlock watched him. He seemed…Sherlock couldn’t find a word that described him right now. He seemed at ease, but there was a tension in those shoulders and in his gait that hadn’t been there before. Was it the flat? Was it the people inside the flat? Was it  _him_ inside the flat?

Forty five minutes later, after all the minions were gone from the flat and Mrs. Hudson had arrived with the promised tea and a surprise of freshly baked scones. For several long moments they sat quietly sipping tea, until she finally broke the silence.

Sherlock sighed in relief when the flat was quiet again. Well, more quiet at least; Mrs Hudson was prattling after all. Sherlock never thought he’d live to see the day where he had missed that! 

‘I know I said biscuits, but I decided on scones, you looked like you could use something more substantial Sherlock.’ She smiled as she held the plate out to Sherlock. ‘Besides, I didn't want to be here with all those people milling about, so this worked out good.' Sherlock took one scone – and after Mrs Hudson’s pointed look he grabbed a second – and held them in his hand for a moment.

But his appetite disappeared the moment the reason for mrs Hudson’s babbling became clear. 'Now I do believe you owe me an explanation dear, don't think I don't have questions.'

She wanted answers. Judging by the way John turned to him as well, Sherlock figured she wasn’t the only one.

‘Moriarty’s network needed to dealt with,’ Sherlock muttered, unable to meet their gazes. 

‘Is that all you have to say?’ Mrs. Hudson trilled. ‘I may not be a bloody genius like you, but I can assure you I've figured that much out for myself already. What I think we deserve to know is why you had to take it to such an extreme?’ She snapped at him. ‘I mean do you realise what you did to us, how we felt?’ She looked at John now.

John leaned forward and place his tea cup on the table. While it was true he wanted answers, he didn't necessarily want to do this in front of anyone else. He had wanted to have this conversation privately, that way maybe he could get Sherlock to open up to him then. But if this conversation took place now and Sherlock actually answered any of the questions they asked, it was more than likely the subject would be closed for any more discussion because if there was one thing Sherlock Holmes hated was repeating himself.

John cleared his throat, ‘Really, Mrs. Hudson, it's fine. I don't think now is quite the time to be having this conversation.’

She now set her teacup on the table, ‘Nonsense John, now is as good as time as any. You know as well as I do, if you give him a pass now, he will never tell us.’ She turned her attention back to Sherlock. ‘Do you have any idea how we took the news, or what you did to John for that matter. The poor man was devastated. He never got over it, even after all this time. I could tell. It was even apparent the day Mycroft had me call him here. You could still see the grief he felt. And what about your other friends - Lestrade and Molly? How could you do such a thing?’

John watched Sherlock's body language as Mrs. Hudson asked her questions. He could see Sherlock cringing with each question. He needed to put a top to this now.

He spoke up again, ‘I know we deserve answers and...’

Sherlock wanted to hide.

He was no stranger in dealing with those who were angry with him – how could he be, with his personality? – but this felt more intense. And far, far more personal. Anger out of care, his mother had described it to him once and never again had Sherlock thought he would be on this side of the argument again. Not like this.

A headache settled in behind his eyes and it suddenly felt like his lungs were too small for his chest. He needed to get out, away from this…

_ NO! Control yourself. You’re fine. This is Mrs Hudson. _

But her voice continued to rattle his brain and no matter how hard Sherlock tried to get away in his mind, he could still hear her. It wasn’t until John’s voice joined the onslaught that it became too much.

‘I had no choice!’ he bit out, louder than he intended. ‘Now kindly leave me alone.’

To be honest, Mrs. Hudson wasn't quite sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't this snappish behavior. Maybe John was right she thought, maybe now was not the time, but as they had been sitting there in near silent, it had just gotten the best of her. She had so many questions and she hadn't meant to heap them on all at once, it was just hard to stop once she started. 

She sighed, ‘Well, if that is what you desire then so be it.’ She rose without another word and exited the flat. 

John had kept quiet, knowing it would do no good to try and talk her into staying. It was probably wise of her to leave before tensions in the flat rose any higher. Sherlock watched her leave, guilt already churning in is his gut but at the same time he was glad for the silence in the flat. However tense it may be. 

His head was still pounding but at least he could breathe again.   
  
_Fine. I am fine._

Until John broke the silence. 

‘Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself. Honestly Sherlock, what would it have hurt to just give her a simple answer instead of yelling? Surely that brain of yours is capable of coming up with something. I mean I know you don't do 'sorry,' but that was really mean Sherlock.’

'Oh for God's sake, John,' Sherlock breathed out irritated. He didn't even know why he felt like this. Everything felt...too much. Every question was grating on his nerves and he just wanted things to go back to normal and they weren't and wouldn't be for a long time and he hates it!   
  
Sherlock took a deep shuddering breath to calm himself. 

‘ _For God's sake?_ Really Sherlock? Don't act like you're the one who's put out here. You were the one that decided to do this, surely you must have deduced that we would be angry and want some sort of an explanation. More than just Moriarty.’ John replied trying to keep his emotions from overtaking what he needed to say to Sherlock. He needed to get some of this out, and now seemed like an appropriate time since it was already out there. 

‘I mean did you really just expect to come back, show up on my doorstep and things to go back like they were without ever explaining why? I mean I know why, but there's more to it, there has to be. Normal people don't do this and you're not normal, you're so much more than that. You can't tell me there wasn't another way this could have been handled. Why did it have to be  _ **THIS**_?’ John stopped, he could feel the anger boiling and the tears welling. He should stop, he really should, but now that the dam that held all these emotions back these past few weeks was cracking, it was best to just let it break entirely.

Sherlock rose to his feet the moment John raised his voice. Oh how he had dreamed of being back at Baker Street with John again, but this... this was going all wrong and Sherlock could feel the control slipping through his fingers. 

He paced the room as John's words screamed and repeated themselves inside his brain. 

_ 'Why did it have to be  _ **_ THIS _ ** _?' _

'Because I had no choice!' Sherlock yelled back. His heart was pounding, fist shaking and God, he wanted to run, slam the doors and hide away until the world was back to normal. 'He wanted me dead and he...'

The words halted in his throat and he took a step back, putting more distance between him and John. He couldn't tell him. Not without completely exposing himself. 'It needed to be done,' he said between clenched jaws. 'It is over now.'

‘No, it's not over Sherlock. Not for all of us. Do you have any idea what you did to us? What you did to me?’ John clenched his fists but managed to keep his voice at a reasonable level so the whole block wouldn't hear him, now that the words had started to pour out. 

‘And please, don't have the audacity to stand there and lie to me, tell me that was the only way or that you did it to keep us safe. I know there's more than that. I hear it in your nightmares when you finally do sleep. You can't bury it forever. Just like I can't now. I didn't want to do this now but I can't hold it in, not any longer.’ John paused, sucking in a breath, waiting for Sherlock to answer but there wasn't one, at least not yet.

‘How could you do that Sherlock? How could you do that to me? We were a team for Christ's sake. And you turned your back on me. I always had your back no matter what, I still do. Hell, I'm here aren't I? Why can't you just open up to me and accept my help instead of trying to build a wall between us?’

Sherlock felt his stomach turn at John's words. Did John honestly believe he was the only one who had been hurt when Moriarty settled his claws in them both? Did John honestly believe that the moment he jumped off that roof, Sherlock hadn't hated himself for becoming interested in the game in the first place? 

How could John not see that everything he had done, everything he had endured had been to ensure his safety. He wanted to tell the truth, he truly did, but the smell of  _Claire-de-la-Lune_ was suddenly strong in his nostrils and the shame of losing his control before John back at Mycroft's safe house, controlled what came out of his mouth next.

'I did what I had to do to win. I did not need your help then and I do not need it now.'

John couldn't believe his ears. ‘So this is how you're going to repay me, after everything I've ever done for you or sacrificed for you? By telling me that you don't need my help? That I've always been a useless prop to you?’ He could feel the heat rising to his face and his voice growing louder. ‘I've given you so much and you.. you can't even bother.... You know what, never mind. You don't care anyway so why should I even bother wasting my breath. You don't want my help, then fine. I'm not offering it any longer. I told you I would stay as long as you needed me to and I guess this is my cue to go.’

He stood, stormed over to the door and grabbed his coat from the hook. Without turning he left Sherlock with one last thing to think about. ‘You know, all I really wanted was for you to say that you were sorry. Sorry for hurting me like that. I've always stood by you no matter what, but I can't, not if it's going to be this way.’ He was glad his back was to Sherlock as he felt the tear slide down his cheek. He paused, waiting for Sherlock to say something, to stop him, to tell him he hadn't really meant the words he had just said but nothing came, silence hung between them. After a minute, John opened the door and slammed it behind him before taking to the stairs.


	18. Chapter 18

No, no,  _no_ ,  _ **NO!**_

Sherlock's mind was screaming at him to beg John to turn around. To stay. _I didn't mean it John, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't go away. I couldn't bear it if you left, please I do need you, more then you'll ever know!_ But the words wouldn't come. 

His throat felt tight and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't breathe. His vision darkened and when he heard the door slam shut, he staggered. Sherlock barely managed to grab hold of his chair to keep himself upright. 

_You machine! Freak!_

'Shut up,' Sherlock muttered, forcing the hateful voice out of his head. 

The sudden quiet of the flat nearly deafened him and Sherlock looked around frantically for something - anything - to focus on.   
  
His fingers trembled too much - he wouldn't even be able to hold his violin. The skull on the mantelpiece seemed to judge him and Sherlock resisted the urge to throw at the wall.   
  
_'...you have any idea what you did to us...to me?! Hurting me...'_  
  
John's words came back to him in pieces and his eyes settled on the red chair - John's chair.   
  
Had John felt this? The quiet? Had that been the reason at first why he moved out? 

 

'John?' 

Mrs Hudson had heard the raised voices upstairs and had wandered outside her apartment when she had heard the door slam. 'John...what is it?'

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, leaned against the wall closing his eyes. He let out a deep sigh.

'Nothing, nothing. I just don't think I can do this. Not if he's going to be like that,' his voice wavering as he tried to explain.

'Oh now dear, it can't be as bad as you think it is...' She offered, patting his shoulder. 'We both know how he is. There's so much that he hides you know, simply because he's not sure how to think or feel about it. I'm sure this isn't how he planned for things to go, but if I know one thing, the two of you can get through this. You just need to focus on what you have.’

'I'm not even sure I know what that is anymore. He just said he's never needed my help and that he doesn't want it now.’ He let his head fall forward and closed his eyes again, trying to keep more tears from falling. He knew she was right, but he just didn't know if he could put himself or his feelings out there like that again and it was becoming increasingly difficult to distance himself from Sherlock again. They had gotten so close again in the small amount of time that he had been back and now that he was here at Baker Street, he didn't want to leave again, not when he was this close to be home again.

'John, you know as well as I do that isn't true. He's just scared. I don't think he was really aware of what his actions caused. He didn't figure how upset his friends would be, because he doesn't think there is anyone who cares for him, and now he doesn't know how to process that, on top of everything else going on. I apologise for bringing it up, I just wanted to know why. It didn't occur to me until after I left and had a chance to settle down that now wasn't the best time.’

John slowly rose his head and looked up the stairs at the landing, he wasn't sure what to think about the fact that Sherlock hadn't raced to the door and flung it open racing after him, but if what Mrs. Hudson said was true, he was probably just frozen in place. He turned back towards Mrs. Hudson, ‘You're right. I can't leave it like this.’ He pushed off from the wall and slowly began his way up the stairs. ’But I also can't promise that I'll stay.’

'That's all you can do dear.'

 

John stood on the landing trying to pull together what he wanted to say when he entered the flat again. He didn't want to argue, it was pointless, but at the same time he needed to be clear on some things, specifically how this was going to work if he stayed, but how to bring it up without falling to harsh words they didn't really mean again. He reached out for the door handle and slowly turned it.

When Sherlock came into view, he'd felt awful for what he'd said. Sherlock was standing behind his chair, hands resting on the back of it, all his weight resting on them. His head hung, but his gaze had settled on John's chair. John entered the flat quietly and he slowly approached Sherlock. He could see Sherlock shaking, so he reached out and placed his hand over Sherlock's.

Sherlock hardly dared to look up when he heard the door opening and John's careful steps approach him. If John would pack up whatever he had left here and leave, Sherlock didn't want to see it. But John halted near him. 

_Oh God, just leave John, I'm sorry, just go, I never should have come back..._

‘I'm sorry, please forgive me,’ was all John could manage to say.

Sherlock raised his head, eyes wide. John shouldn't apologise to him, it should have been - 'No, John, I...' Sherlock took a deep breath, struggling for the words. 'I didn't mean it. I - ' He shook his head unable to meet John's gaze for much longer. 

John tightened his grasp on Sherlock's hand. ’I know, neither did I.’ He tried to catch Sherlock's gaze, but couldn't because of the way Sherlock now turned his head. 

‘Sherlock, please look at me.’ He waited for Sherlock to turn his attention back towards him. ’There's still a lot we both need to process and work out. Some things we need to do on our own, but some things we need to do together. We have to let each other in. This hurt both of us, more than either of us would like to admit. And it's going to take time for both of us to heal. And we will need to talk about it some time, but now is not the time for that.’

John pulled him close and wrapped his arms around Sherlock for a hug. ’I don't want anything to come between us. God, you don't know how much I missed you, I just can't not have you in my life, but at the same time, I can't walk around here on egg shells. It won't work for either of us.’

 

Sherlock froze when John's arms wrapped around his frame but it didn't take long before his body relaxed and he leaned into the touch.   
  
_John. Touching him. Holding him. John. Together. He wasn't leaving. Wonderful brilliant John. He stayed!_  
  
He could pretend. For one blissful moment Sherlock could pretend he hadn't smelled the female perfume on John's clothes. He could pretend that John was still living here and had welcomed him back with open arms. He could pretend that nothing had happened, that the past two years had been nothing more than a very bad dream.   
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and lowered his head, allowing himself to breathe in John's scent.   
  
Home. 

Both the words of Mrs Hudson and John's own words had given him a vague picture of how John must have suffered these past years and that was something he had never suspected. He envisioned John grieving but able to move on soon enough.   
  
'I did miss you too John,' Sherlock muttered against John's neck. 'If there had been any other way, I would have done it. I am so sorry. I had no idea it would affect you so.'

‘I know you did Sherlock, I know.’ John replied as he closed his eyes and tried not to let his arms falter as Sherlock laid his head on John's shoulder. It took everything he had not to shiver (or whimper for that matter) as he felt Sherlock's warm breath on his neck. He could feel the hesitation and tension leave Sherlock's body and he knew this was his chance to coax the detective into some well needed rest. It had been a long morning for them both and he would be the first to admit he wasn't opposed to the idea of a kip. He could feel the exhaustion weighing Sherlock down.

‘Sherlock, I think now is a good time for some well-deserved rest, don't you?’

 

Sherlock nodded against John's shoulder, suddenly feeling his body crash with the exhaustion.   
It had been like this before, Sherlock remembered. They would run around, completely focused on the case, John would manage to get some sleep in the quiet moments while Sherlock kept himself going. Until the inevitable crash.  
  
Sherlock could feel John steering him towards the bedroom, staying close to him and Sherlock's body followed. 

  
With great care John helped him on his belly - his back still too sore to lie on. 

John was pulling the duvet up Sherlock's body, tucking it around his waist, relieved that the detective wasn't fighting the need to rest now.

He let his hands rest on the side of the bed, allowing himself to lead forward to be closer to Sherlock, ‘I'm going to unpack my things and maybe rest a bit myself. If you need me, just yell.’

John shifted his weight and was ready to turn when suddenly he felt Sherlock's hand encircle his wrist. John's gaze fell to his wrist where Sherlock's fingers had closed around it. God those fingers, sliding across his skin making his pulse jump. He hoped to hell Sherlock hadn't noticed and if he did, he prayed that he wouldn't bring it up. 

 

'John.'  
  
It was everything Sherlock couldn't but wanted to ask. He didn't want John to leave - even he could acknowledge that the nightmares were significantly less frequent when John was with him, though that wasn't the only reason he wanted him near him. 

John's eyes darted suddenly to lock with Sherlock's when the younger man softly called out his name. It was a request for him to stay. Only Sherlock could pack so much meaning into one word, and oh how John wished the circumstances that lead Sherlock to ask him to join him were different. He had really thought he was over those feelings for Sherlock but now with Sherlock's return and the amount of time they've spent in each other's presence, those feelings were back and stronger than ever. 

He knew he really should politely decline (more for his own sanity since he knows Sherlock doesn't feel 'that' way about him), but John just couldn't. What he could control however, is how close he would allow himself to get. 

John motioned for Sherlock to move over and allow him some room. He toed off his shoes and crawled onto the bed, trying to keep his mind focused on what was really taking place here, a doctor helping to treat his patient. No, this went way beyond that. John reminded himself to focus as he settled back against the headboard, deciding that sitting would be better than lying next to Sherlock. 

‘There now, how's this?’ He asked, reaching out to run out to run his fingers through Sherlock's curls. He knew he shouldn't, but he also knew this was the best way to relax Sherlock and calm his mind when the negative thoughts of his two years away threatened to overtake his sleep.

Sherlock hummed softly. He was already halfway to drifting off completely so when John's fingers started caressing his curls, he was out before he could even begin to question the shift in their dynamic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow over 200 kudos! We can't believe the response this has been getting. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, thank you all so much for reading


	19. Chapter 19

He awoke suddenly. Sherlock knew he had been dreaming but the images were already dissolving. He couldn't even remember if it had been a nightmare or not.  
John's breathing was still deep and slow - he must have fallen asleep - so Sherlock figured he must not have moved as much.   
  
John. 

Still here. In his bed. 

It took Sherlock a moment before he realised what this could mean to someone else and it sent a thrill down his spine. But he pushed that sentiment away quickly - John cared, oh yes, but not like that.   
  
With a quiet groan, he rose from the bed, swaying on his feet before making his way to the kitchen. But he was stopped by the sudden buzzing of John's phone on the nightstand. 

John had never been a deep sleeper which had helped him throughout his medical career, the war and more recently taking care of Sherlock. The first thing he noticed was the shift of weight from Sherlock's side of the bed. Mmm, a smile forming on his lips, that was a nice thought, Sherlock's side of the bed. As he hovered between sleep and waking, his mind drifted to them sharing a bed for reasons other than John being Sherlock's caretaker at the moment. When he felt the weight disappear completely, he frowned and shifted. John hadn't heard Sherlock make any sounds or ask for assistance so maybe he was just heading to the loo. Perhaps the kitchen for some water. He kept his eyes closed and shifted himself to a more comfortable position. He just wanted a few more moments of rest, to enjoy the calm he felt here in Sherlock's bed, that's when he heard the buzzing of his phone.

John groaned, unaware that Sherlock stood just outside the doorway. He blindly reached in the direction of the offending buzz and damn near knocked the phone off the nightstand before retrieving it. He brought the phone to his ear and grumbled a half arsed greeting without even looking to see who it was.

_ ‘John? John, what's wrong?’ _ Mary's concerned voice invading his ear.

He sighed, rubbing his free hand over his face and his eyes. He cleared his throat, ‘Nothing's wrong Mary. I was just resting.’

_ ‘Oh. Are you sure?’ _ She paused, the line going quiet. _‘You sound agitated. Like I've interrupted something.’_

He sighed. ‘No, it's nothing like that, just been a long morning.’

_ ‘Why, what happened? Is he OK? Are you sure nothing happened? You'd tell me right?’ _

He shook his head. He definitely didn't need this tright now. What he needed was to get off the phone and go check on Sherlock. ‘Of course I would tell you. I've told you everything. It's just that we're back ho... at Baker Street,’ he caught himself. 

_ ‘What do you mean? I thought that wasn't happening until tomorrow?’ _ she commented, half surprised and affronted that he had changed locations without telling her.

‘Well, you know Sherlock, the moment I said he could leave the facility, he wanted to leave as soon as possible.’ he explained.

_ ‘Well John, that's the whole problem, I don't know him. Well, not personally anyway. When can I meet him? How bout I stop by after work?’ _

John bolted forward. ‘No!’ He answered abruptly. ‘That wouldn't be advisable. He's not ready for any company yet.’ He said a bit more calmly.

_ ‘That's just it though John, I'm not company, I'm your fiancée.’ _ She stated matter of factly.

She was right and her words struck a nerve somewhere inside him. ‘It's just I don't think it's a good idea yet.’

_ ‘You haven't told him yet have you?’ _ she said, the disappoint clear in her voice.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, swung his feet over the side of the bed now so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘No.’ he said resignedly, he didn't offer her anymore of an explanation than that.

_ ‘Oh John.’ _ She sighed. _’I'm disappointed, it's been almost three weeks. You're going to have to tell him sooner or later.’_

_ Later.  _ John thought to himself. _Much later._ ‘I know, soon.’

_ ‘Look, I've got to go. I was only on a short break. Call me later tonight after my shift? We can talk then, and maybe arrange for some time together soon. I miss you.’ _

‘Yea, I miss you too love. Look I better get going myself. I need to check on him. I'll talk to you later.’ He said finishing the call.

John hung his head for a few moments, gathering his thoughts and shaking the feelings of guilt from himself. He didn't want to think about Mary now, about telling Sherlock about Mary, He knew it was not going to be a happy subject. In fact, he suspected after this morning's outburst, Sherlock would more than likely demand John rid her from his life or leave Baker Street for good. Either option held no appeal. He exhaled deeply. He would sort this later after he had time to weigh all the options and outcomes. Right now, he should really go find out what Sherlock was up to, the detective had been quiet for far too long.

Sherlock hovered on the other side of the door, listening to John’s tired voice answering the woman on the other end of the phone.

Judging from John’s comments they had discussed him before. Sherlock had suspected it but to have it confirmed that John trusted someone else enough to give them the information about him not being dead – Sherlock didn’t know how that made him feel.

John sounded…annoyed? Tired? Certainly not like someone who was on the phone with the love of their life. Right? John had been sleeping, so perhaps…

_ Yea, I miss you too love… _

Sherlock let out a trembling breath before turning to the kitchen. Tea. He just needed tea. 

Before John could make his way to the kitchen to check on Sherlock, his phone began buzzing again. He was relieved to see that it wasn't Mary calling him back again, but annoyed when he say the display flash Mycroft.

‘Yes. What can I do for you?’ John asked, not bothering with any pleasantries.

_ ‘I was just calling for an update. I would have expected to have heard something by now.’ _

John glanced at his watch. They had only been home about six hours, and almost half of them were spent sleeping. He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice when he answered. ‘Well, we were just resting, busy morning and all and I wasn't aware that it was part of my job to call you with updates.’

_ ‘No, I suppose you weren't. In any event, should anything of note happen, I would hope you call me first. Oh and John, I do think it best you keep your personal life outside the walls of 221B, the last thing Sherlock needs right now is to be upset. I must go now, I've things to do.’ _ And like that, the call was over as fast as it begin.

Sherlock was steeling himself to talk to John but then he heard his former flatmate talking to his phone again.  
Clipped tone. Definitely annoyed now.  
  
Mycroft.

Sherlock couldn't prevent the frown forming on his face at his brother's meddlesome behaviour - that was one of the reason Sherlock had wanted to go home as soon as possible. Mycroft was overbearing in his worrying about him.

John looked at the phone, his eyes wide at Mycroft's audacity, but he couldn't say that he didn't agree with him as far as keeping Mary's name from being mentioned in the flat. Then it occurred to him that Mycroft must have bugged the flat again. He would have to mention it to Sherlock then. It was nice to know at least some things never changed as far as life was concerned at Baker Street.

He shook his head and stood, stretching the kinks out of his back before wandering out to the kitchen where he found Sherlock busy making tea.

‘You okay?’ he asked announcing his presence.

  
John's voice startled Sherlock and he nearly dropped the kettle out of his hands. He hadn't even heard John ending the call.  
Unacceptable. He was slipping.  
  
Sherlock nodded sharply. Ignore it, he told himself sternly as he gripped the kettle tighter and filled it with water. Perhaps if he ignored it, so would John.  
He could feel John watching him as Sherlock made two cups of tea.

John had seen the kettle waver in Sherlock's grip when he announced his presence but he didn't mention it. He sat at the table, still watching as Sherlock finished the tea and transferred the cups to the table. John noticed he seemed to be preoccupied with something. He waited though, instead of barraging the detective with questions of whether he felt ok Or what was bothering him. What he wasn't prepared for was Sherlock's simple question when he sat.   
  
'Mary?'  
  
The question was out before Sherlock could stop himself. He didn't want to know yet any piece of missing data about John was driving him mad.

All the colour drained from John's face and his smile disappeared. Had Sherlock been listening in on his phone calls? Of course he had, why else would he be asking questions now. John was a little bit put off, not at the fact that Sherlock had been eavesdropping (remember this was the norm as far as life with Sherlock went sometimes) but because this was one topic he really didn't want to discuss right now. He wasn't really surprised that Sherlock had figured it out either, even though he had tried his best to keep it from him. He sighed, debated with himself how much he wanted to divulge and resigned to answering Sherlock's question with, ‘What would you like to know?’

Sherlock regarded John for a moment. He seemed reluctant to talk about Mary. Apprehensive? Afraid that Sherlock would ruin another relationship? But surely... John hadn't seen her since Sherlock came back and yet they still were together judging by the phone call. And she knew that he was alive.   
  
Very tolerant then. And John trusted her. Loved her. But he kept her away. For him? Or for her?  
  
'She wants to come here?' 

Out of all the questions Sherlock could possibly start with, this was definitely the worst and least expected. What he expected was, 'where'd you meet this one, what's she like, how long have you been together' something of that sort. No he starts out with the one Mary herself wants. And John was opposed to it. Not because he was afraid Sherlock would run her off, but because he didn't really want to share Sherlock with anyone else. Not when they still had so much to sort out between them. He didn't need the added emotions of a third party. 

‘Yes, but it's not that simple.’

Sherlock frowned. 'Why?'  
  
Before he... left, John had been adamant on bringing his girlfriends to Baker Street. Something about Sherlock being able to get along with them - though Sherlock suspected it had more to do with him deducing their flaws and secrets.   
  
But now, John hadn't even mentioned her. Perhaps John had been too focused on helping Sherlock, but he knew they had been in touch. At some point, John had told her and yet hadn't discussed her with Sherlock.   
  
'Isn't she... you know. I can imagine she wants to see you at some point. You've been with me all this time.'

John sipped at his tea, debating how to answer Sherlock's question. Now that those words had been said aloud he felt slightly guilty about not having seen Mary since the Monday morning after their engagement and that was almost three weeks now. It should have bothered him, but if he were honest with himself it didn't. Simply because she hadn't pushed the issue or objected. Hell she didn't even give him the ultimatum that it was her or Sherlock that he wasn't allowed to have both - something all his exes eventually did. In fact she encouraged that he be there for Sherlock, to take as much time as he, no they need and she seemed fine with it. She only ever said she missed him and left it at that. And he knew that when she said she wanted to discuss it tonight that he would end up doing most of the talking and she would just agree with whatever he would think is best. 

He looked across the table at Sherlock. ‘Of course she misses me but she also knows that you getting better is what I'm focused on now. She understands and she doesn't want to interfere with that. I just don't think it's idea for you to have company right now, especially with someone you've never met. It's just got the potential to be overwhelming and believe me if she finds something curious she won't let go of it until he curiosity is satisfied. So I would rather just wait a bit longer until you’re more settled. Less of a chance for you to be overwhelmed then.’ 

Sherlock rose an eyebrow in surprise.  
'That is... accommodating of her.'  
  
He tried not to let it show that the words John's used settled strangly in his gut.   
Overwhelming... not fit for company... as if he was some skittish animal needing to be re-tamed.   
  
_No. Stop this. John means well._  
  
Sherlock took a sip of his own tea, forcing himself to calm down. They had only just settled things a little. He didn't want to mess things up again so soon.   
'You're living with her?'

Sherlock's reaction to Mary was very odd, very so not Sherlock. Before there would have been dozens of questions and plenty of deductions but it was a bit hard to deduce someone you've never met or barely heard a thing about. Sherlock did make a good point though, Mary was being very accommodating thus far. That's another part of the reason he held off bringing her over, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

John sipped at his tea some more while trying to decide just how much personal information he wanted to share with Sherlock. it wasn't intentional, him keeping this from Sherlock, he just wanted Sherlock to focus on his recovery. At least that's what he kept telling himself. He didn't want to admit that ever since Sherlock had returned he had been having some serious doubts about the state of his personal affairs and he knew that had Sherlock not come back into his life, well this wouldn't even be an issue. He'd be planning a wedding and not have any doubts but now there was this little voice in the back of his head making him doubt his choice of asking Mary to marry him. Oh bloody hell, Sherlock didn't know that he was engaged and for the meantime that was probably best John decided. It was probably a big enough shock that he was living with someone and that it appeared to be more serious than any other relationship he had ever had before, not including the one with Sherlock of course. 

Time to answer Sherlock's question before he thinks of five more or deduces that He's having doubts john thought to himself. Really that would be the last thing he needed. 

‘Yes. We've been living together for a bit over a year now.’

A year.

Sherlock’s stomach turned dangerously. A full year. Not merely dating then. A serious relationship. Engagement? Marriage? Children?

Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded. It had been a risk – Mycroft had warned him that John would move on eventually – but Sherlock had thought, had hoped, that John would come back to him. Tea and take-away at Baker Street, pestering the Yard, solving cases. Mary was accommodating now, but would she stay that way. 

‘I see,’ Sherlock muttered. ‘You should uh… she can come, if she wants. I’m fine, John, honestly.’

‘Sherlock, please. Now is not the time for that. Trust me. I mean you just saw how things went with Mrs Hudson. I can guarantee it will be worse with her.’

Sherlock stared a John considering the implications of John's words. He wasn't quite sure how to take them. John sensed Sherlock's uneasiness.

‘Sherlock, I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. It's not you. This is all me. I don't feel comfortable with the situation yet. You and I have a lot to work out yet and I want us to get through that to before I allow her to come here. We don't need another repeat of what happened earlier. Ok?’

Sherlock nodded quietly at John’s admission. Yes, he could understand that John might still need time to adjust to his return. Before they had returned to Baker Street, John had been stuck in his doctor role, focusing solely on getting him better enough to go back home in the first place.

But now that was over – for the most part at least. It could no longer serve as a crutch.

John was right. They didn’t need a repeat of yesterday. Small steps indeed.

‘Just don’t blame me if she decides not to wait much longer,’ he said carefully but with a small smile on his face, desperate to get something of their old dynamic back. 

‘Can you please just stop. Things aren't like they used to be. You don't always need to try and get the last say in the matter. This is different. I know the potential for how this situation can turn out. Now can we please just focus on something else?’

By this point, John had risen from the table and began pacing, coming to rest at the kitchen counter. ‘How about something to eat?’

Sherlock watched as John suddenly rose from his seat and nodded silently when he asked him if he wanted something to eat.   
  
John was right; things had changed. And Sherlock wasn't sure yet if he liked the changes that had been forced upon them. 


	20. Chapter 20

They spent the day moving around each other like strangers instead of friends, both of them unsure where they stood. The fact that they had shared a bed, here in 221B, went unspoken. Sherlock wanted to scream with the awkwardness of it all. Or blow up the kitchen - that should remind John of before.   
  
In the end it was easy and Sherlock didn't believe he didn't think of it sooner.   
He had let his hand trace his violin for a moment while John was clearing out the dishes in the kitchen when his finger had plucked one of the strings. It needed to be tuned, desperately but Sherlock felt his mind slow and clear for a moment and John froze in the kitchen.   
  
Sherlock had missed playing and, despite John's protests on occasion, Sherlock knew that John enjoyed his playing. Had he missed it too? Had he felt the crushing silence as well?  
  
'Do you mind... I might be a bit rusty.' Sherlock asked tentatively.

 

John had stopped putting the dishes away as the first sounds of his favourite melody began making his way through the flat. His eyes fell shut and the memories flooded back. At some point he began swaying, losing himself in the memories. He couldn't help it. This was one of the songs Sherlock used to play when John would wake in the middle of the night from nightmares, unable to settle, that is until Sherlock composed this for him. 

There were several different variations depending on the severity of the dreams but John had always appreciated that Sherlock had done this for him. 

John had debated saying something but just let the music bring them back together again. 

 

His back was sore and his shoulder began to feel cramped but Sherlock kept on playing. He had missed it too much, the clarity of mind this instrument provided him, John listening, his breath slowing as they had settled into a comfortable atmosphere.   
  
It was the same now. Sherlock could hear John staying in the kitchen, no longer busy with the dishes.   
The music left him raw and exposed and his body begged him to sit down but Sherlock didn't stop. Not yet.   
His words had failed him before. Perhaps his music could start fixing what had been broken on that pavement.

 

Neither was aware how much time had passed, though John began to notice a slowing in the melody.  He knew Sherlock's arm must be getting tired, but he also knew Sherlock was obstinate when it came to minding his transport.  He quietly slipped into the loo and grabbed a towel and a small bottle of oil, if he didn't tend to Sherlock's arms and shoulder, the man would not be fit for company later.  He sat the items on the table in front of the sofa as he made his way to where Sherlock stood in front of the window.  He slowly reached his arm up alongside Sherlock's and gently coaxed the violin from his hand.

'John?' Sherlock startled when he suddenly felt John's hand slide up his arm to take the violin from him but he didn't recoil.

'Shhhh, that was very relaxing and nice, now let me return the favour.'  He explained, as he gently set the violin in its case and pulled Sherlock towards the sofa. He coaxed Sherlock into sitting on the sofa and sat behind him, 'That must have taken some effort. I want to make sure your shoulder doesn't ache from playing, OK?' 

 

Sherlock wordlessly nodded as John tugged his shirt off over his head.   John grinned as Sherlock shivered a bit, though he wasted no time picking the bottle up and pouring a good amount in his palm and rubbing them together to heat the oil before he tentatively reached out and began to knead Sherlock's shoulder. This was John, safe. Even now his mind knew and recognised the familiarity of his touch.

But John - _oh God John_ \- helped him, like he had always done. They took off his shirt and then John's hands, warm and slick with oil started massaging his shoulder.   
  
It took every ounce of self-control not to lean too much into the touch. Sherlock placed his hands in his lap, clasped together to prevent him from reaching out and to make sure John didn't see how his fingers were trembling. 

They stayed like that in silence, while John worked out the tight muscles in his shoulders and upper back. Occasionally his fingers lingered on a scar, or they traced the edge of the bandage still in place for the lines that hadn't closed yet, but they didn't say anything. 

Sherlock didn't want him to stop. Yet if it went on any longer he would become terrified that his own control might snap - he was relieved John couldn't see him face right now. 

 

John was not surprised that Sherlock didn't react adversely to his touch, in fact over the course of the last two weeks they had become quite accustomed to one another's touch.

Though John was a little disappointed; he could sense some hesitation in Sherlock's body. He would still be sore later if he didn't let go of whatever uncomfortable thoughts he was harbouring. 

John leaned forward now, his chin resting on top of his own hand and his lips brushing Sherlock's earlobe. 

'Sherlock, you need to let go of everything and relax, else you'll still be sore later.' John nudged him back a bit now so is head was lying back on John's shoulder.  

'There you go, just close your eyes and relax.'

 

Sherlock let out a shuddering breath as he leaned back, resting his head against John's strong shoulder.   
He closed his eyes, both to calm himself and to prevent looking at John too closely, and tried to focus on nothing else but John's hands on his shoulder.   
  
His heart was pounding -  _John will hear. He will feel. He has to!_  - and he tightened his clasped hands.   
  
_Relax. John is just helping. He doesn't..._  
  
But then the memory of John's lips and breath against his ear came back to him like a battering ram and Sherlock pushed it away, not daring to hope. 

 

For the life of him John just could understand why Sherlock couldn't just detach long enough to enjoy the massage and the quiet of the flat. 

That's when It occurred to John, maybe music was the key. He began to softly hum one of his favourite tunes and then sing softly, 'If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true, and help me understand...'

That did the trick, Sherlock left a deep sigh and his body melted into John's. John just kept working the muscles on both his shoulders now. 

 

Some part of Sherlock's brain was still screaming at him. Warning him not to lose focus. Not to give up his concentration. There was so much to lose after all. If John knew just what his mere touch caused to stir inside Sherlock's head...  
  
But Sherlock had given up. He had spent years on edge and now finally he could let go. If just for a moment, he could pretend that he hadn't left and that the past two years never happened.   
  
Sherlock was leaning fully into John's chest now. Eyes still closed and he drifted on the tones of John's voice. He had sung before. Little bits and pieces whenever he thought Sherlock couldn't hear him and even back then he liked hearing it.   
Now, it completely calmed him down. 

 

John had continued between singing and humming and just letting Sherlock drift. 'If I give my heart to you, I must be sure, From the very start, that you would love me more than her...'

He had let things get too out of control earlier and needed to make things right,  It hadn't taken long for Sherlock's breathing to steady and drift off to sleep, and while it wasn't the most comfortable places to rest, the sofa would do.  John edged back as far as he could and laid back allowing Sherlock to rest on top of him.  He needed Sherlock to know that he wasn't going to go anywhere and that nothing was going to change between them, not as long as he had anything to say about it.  He pulled the cover over the back of the sofa on top of them before settling down himself and closing his eyes.

 

Sherlock slept deeply and quietly. Whatever dreams formed in his mind where chased away by John's presence around him. 

Safe. Home. 

He'd be okay. 

  
  
Mrs Hudson came upstairs once as the men slept and the sight that greeted her nearly brought her tears. Not only did Sherlock looked a lot more relaxed right now, but a weight seemed to have been lifted from John's shoulders. 

Those two years had nearly destroyed them both but right now, Mrs Hudson thought as she slipped back downstairs, right now things were alright again. 

John had woke first, he was content to just lie there and hold Sherlock.  What he didn't like however was the mess that his mind was becoming now that Sherlock knew about Mary.  Well, he would just have to put that off as long as he possibly could.

He began to hum again, he just couldn't get that tune out of his head.  It was so fitting, and the effect it had on Sherlock, he just curled in tighter to John and John just wrapped his arms around him and reveled in this stolen moment.

 

Sherlock woke slowly, his body slightly sore for the odd position in which he had slept and his bandages were pulling on his skin. And yet, he could not remember a better awakening. 

He was still cradled in John's arms - he was awake, his heartbeat and breathing gave him away and yet he was still holding him - and Sherlock allowed himself to relax again. 

Something had shifted before they had fallen asleep and Sherlock wasn't sure precisely what it meant. He shifted his head a little so he could regard John's face. Sherlock was greeted with a slow smile, but no hesitation nor awkwardness and he found himself returning the silent greeting. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussion of suicidal thoughts

‘Rest OK?’ John asked.

Sherlock nodded, but didn't move. It seemed like neither man was in a hurry to move out of the position they were in since they both found the other's presence comforting.

‘You know, we need to come up with some kind of plan to slowly get you back into the swing of things, life in general. It's not going to be easy. You can't just pick up where you left of before you disappeared. Have you given any thought to that?’

 

No, Sherlock hadn't. 

He had assumed that he would have been fine when he would return. A little banged up perhaps, but fine.

He had assumed that John would come back to him at the first sign. That Mrs Hudson would be her joyful overbearing self.   
  
He had been wrong on all accounts.   
  
Sherlock didn't even know how Lestrade was doing. Was he still working at the Yard? Would he be welcomed back there at all?  
  
'I didn't think I'd be like... this,' Sherlock admitted. 'To be honest, I had hoped just to -' He shook his head at his on naivety. 'Mycroft kept me out of the loop on most affairs. I don't even know if my name has been cleared.' 

 

‘I would imagined your brother has had your name cleared though I don't know for certain. I never really asked and I always knew that what you told me that day was a bunch of shite, so I never paid attention to what the newspapers where publishing. I was just trying to make It through each day without...’ He cleared his throat and abruptly changed the subject. He didn't want to fall back into that conversation again. Those feelings he had had then, they didn't matter anymore because Sherlock was here now. 

‘It was also a good thing that Mycroft kept all that from you. I can imagine it would have probably made you more volatile.

As for how the rest of London might react to you being back, well we will handle that together.’

 

Sherlock turned his head quickly when John cleared his throat and changed the subject.   
  
_'I was just trying to make it through each day without...'_  
  
_Oh. Oh John!_  
  
A rush of anger, guilt and grief suddenly overwhelmed him. When he had first met John, he had known. He had seen how the former soldier regarded his own gun a bit too long every day. How he cleaned it and left the magazine close. Held it once or twice perhaps.   
To think that John, his John, would have done that again after he left... To think he might have lost John to a bullet from his own gun.  
  
'If you would have... I faked my death so you would live!' Sherlock said fervently, without breaking his gaze.

 

John hugged him and rubbed his arm to soothe him.

‘Hey, that's past,' John assured him. 'We both made it through it and we still have a way to go yet to heal, but I don't want to play the blame game. You did what you thought you had to but from now on you need to come to me if it involves both of us. You just can't do that, you wouldn't like it if I did it to you. And I don't want you feeling guilty because of any thoughts I might have had. Those were a normal response in my situation and if you don't believe me you can ask Ella. Besides, there were plenty of people that kept their eye on me.’

John paused and sighed, not really knowing what to say next. 

 

'I would have...' Sherlock swallowed his words. If Mycroft would have contacted him to let him know John was dead - Sherlock's stomach turned at the mere thought of it - he wouldn't have cared anymore.

During those two years away, it had been John's voice that had kept him going. When he had been tortured, it was the knowledge that John was waiting for a miracle that forced him to hold on. Without John here, he would have given up. 

_Bit not good._

'I'm glad you didn't. And I am sorry, John.' Sherlock leaned into John's touch, allowing himself as close as possible.

 

John felt his throat tighten at the emotions behind Sherlock's words. Even at his lowest he don't think he would have done it but there was no reason to ever think of that again.

He allowed himself to enjoy Sherlock moving in closer towards his body. ‘Don't think on it anymore, I...’

Just then a buzzing in his pocket interrupted his sentence. He retrieved the phone and groaned as he looked at the display. Now was not the time for this. He hit reject and switched the phone off.

 

Sherlock watched as John pulled out phone - Mary again - and he frowned when he saw John's reaction to her name. 

That wasn't how people normally reacted when they saw their other half's name on the phone. Right? But earlier, when John had spoken about Mary, he seemed hesitant to even bring her up and determined to keep her away from him. 

'I honestly don't mind, John,' said Sherlock, glad for the change of subject. 'I mean, if you're afraid I'll insult her or anything, then I'll assure you, that is not my intention at all. She must be a bit curious. Perhaps she won't call as much once she has seen you - and me, for that matter.'

 

John sighed, ‘Sherlock it's not like that. I just want to focus on you getting better. I don't want any interruptions or distractions. There's so much time we missed so I'm sorry if I just want it to be you and I right now.’ He gasped as that last bit slipped out, but he wasn't going to lie about it. 

 

Sherlock stared. John was ready to give up whatever time he could spend with his girlfriend to spend it with him. 

Yes, he had done that already, during the past few weeks to nurse him back to relative health. But to hear it like this... now... that left him speechless.   
  
Well. Perhaps not entirely speechless. 

'I... uh... yes me too,' he admitted softly and he found that statement to be true. He had missed John intensely and although they had been reunited for a while, it wasn't until now that Sherlock felt he had his John back. Not the soldier. Not the doctor. His best friend. The man who he'd been willing to die for to keep safe. 

 

‘It's going to be tough to get you acclimated back to being in the city,' John explained to Sherlock. 'I am sure there will be many questions from friends, the public in general and reporters. I don't want to rush into anything. It could be detrimental to the progress you are making. So you understand. That's why I'm so protective of you. I've been there before. I know what it can and will be like. You can't just do this like you're used to Sherlock-barreling head on without thinking about it.’

John glanced down at Sherlock and was relieved to see him paying attention to what he was saying. He wasn't necessarily lecturing the man, just trying to give him a realistic view of what was to come. 

‘It's not going to be easy and some days will be worse than others. We have to start off slow and that means just here at Baker Street for now. Mycroft has instructed Mrs Hudson not to let anyone know you're alive yet, as for when we tell everyone else, we play that by ear. We will not rush this.’

Sherlock nodded but john could tell he was upset and holding his tongue. 

‘Sherlock, this isn't about being weak or thinking you can't handle it. This is doing it the right way so we don't add stress to your body. You are still recovering. Trust me, if it was easy, I'd let you loose on London now, but we are going to err on the side of caution.’

 

Sherlock said nothing - he knew that there was no fighting John about this right now. And no matter how desperately he wanted to prove to himself, to John and to everyone else, he was fine, he knew that he wasn't. Time. Damnable time that was what he would need. 


	22. Chapter 22

So they continued like that. They slept in the same bed at night to keep the nightmares at bay, Sherlock played the violin and experimented during the day whilst John fell back to the ease of living inside Baker Street again. They were closer though and Sherlock found himself looking forward to John's touches, whether it was to change his bandages or to massage out the strain in his muscles from playing. 

Just the two of them - with exception of Mrs. Hudson who seemed determined to make Sherlock gain a couple of stones - just like it had been before. 

 

Nine days after that is when their dynamic started shifting in an unforeseen way. It had been an inexorably taxing day from the get go. It began with a barrage of texts from Mycroft, insisting that Sherlock should begin making appearances here and there and John adamantly refused, explaining to Mycroft that Sherlock was not yet ready. The nightmares were being kept at bay but any extra stress added during the day didn't make for a pleasant night. And John new tonight was going to be one of those nights.   

After John had refused Mycroft and turned his phone off, Mycroft had the audacity to show up at the flat demanding to know who John thought he was. John matter of factly stated he was Sherlock's doctor and apparently the only one concerned about his wellbeing but as soon as Sherlock caught on to the gist of the conversation, he sided with Mycroft. He wanted to go out. It needn't be anything huge, maybe a trip to Tesco's, they were low on milk after all, but John still refused.

 

'Oh for God's sake John, I've been cooped in here for ages.' Sherlock argued, back straight and head held high. Anything to appear as well as he wanted to feel. Some fresh air would do him good. Well... as fresh as London could provide in any case.

It had been too long since he had been able to  _do_ something. He was bored and quite frankly, ready to shoot the walls again, just to piss John off. That would liven things up a bit. 

'Some cold cases. Gavin must have missed my input. I can only imagine the caseload he has been suffering from since I've left. Or perhaps Molly has something interesting - she'll be pleased to know I'm finally back. And the shopping. You always complained that I never did any shopping. You have made me want to, now!'

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.  What he really wanted to do was through Mycroft out and go on about the day as he had originally planned it. Some more physical therapy and maybe some talking. They had been making good progress in that area until about ten minutes ago. He knew Sherlock wouldn't relent now and he glared at Mycroft.

"Fine, we will go out for a bit, but may I remind both of you gave me the final say in what you are ready for," He said pointing at Sherlock. "So no NSY, no Bart's. I don't think showing up at either place without ample warning would be nice. Besides, you are in no shape for any cases, even cold ones. So you and I will go to the park and get some air and then stop at Tesco's on the way back. This is the only scenario, I'm willing to entertain, so it's up to you."

 

Both Holmes men spoke up at once.

'My brother needs the challenge to his mind, John-'

'Oh Molly will hardly be surprised John-'

And stopped talking at the exact same time.   
  
Because for all their talking over the last few weeks, the actual 'how' Sherlock had done it, had not been discussed.   
  
Mycroft turned sharply to Sherlock, silencing him - of course the bloody git knew John didn't know, Sherlock thought bitterly - but the damage had already been done. Sherlock could almost feel the disbelief and anger radiating from his flatmate. 

 

John looked at Sherlock, cocking his head to the side as the meaning of his words sunk in...  _Oh Molly will hardly be surprised John-_

Of course other people knew, they would have had too to help pull it off, but Molly? Molly was his friend and she watched him suffer all that time Sherlock was 'dead' and never said a thing. Well, not like she could, but still.

He clenched his fist, then pointedly look at Mycroft, "You, out!" and then he turned and pointed at Sherlock, "And you, couch. Trip is off until we have a small discussion."

 

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at John's outburst at the same time Sherlock started protesting. 

'I had to John, no one would have suspected her! Jim thought she didn't matter and so she was perfect. Well, that and her easy access to dead bodies was vital to the plan - '

'Brother, dear, I think it best if you would stop your rambling.'

Sherlock closed his mouth and shot a glare to his brother. But Mycroft was right. He was rambling out of nervousness. John had been extremely calm about the entire thing, focusing on his recovery more than anything else and Sherlock had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Seems like today was the day. 

Mycroft nodded briefly to Sherlock, before turning around and leaving the flat, though Sherlock knew he would stay close in case... well, that was one scenario Sherlock didn't want to think about. 

 

As Sherlock took his place on the couch, John had begun to pace and was muttering to himself. He was trying to work out the points that needed saying and discard the rest. They had let this go too long but it hadn't been important, getting Sherlock better was the important thing and how could he blame Sherlock for not bringing this up when he was still hiding Mary? Sure he talked and texted with her, mostly while Sherlock slept, but still, in the scheme of things, it wasn't really different. They were both avoiding discussing something they knew would hurt the other, but that would just end up making it worse.

When he finally decided on what he needed to say he turned to Sherlock, "Look, I know that quite a few had to know to be able to pull that off, I guess I just never figured it would be some of the same people I was friends with.  I don't really care how you did it, the why makes that unimportant, but does anyone else that I'm close to know or was it just Molly?"

 

Sherlock watched closely as John paced. He was calming himself, Sherlock noted. He didn't want to be angry and Sherlock felt the tightness in his chest dissolve a little. They could talk about this. They had to. 

'Uh... just Molly and Mycroft,' Sherlock admitted. 'And some on my homeless network, to be honest. Everyone you saw on that street was... in on it. It was imperative that not too many people knew. If even the slightest hint had been given, your lives would have been... I calculated that Moriarty would overlook Molly and I was right.'

 

John slowed and turned towards Sherlock, he wanted to move closer but refrained yet. "Ok, I can handle that and I assume your parents knew, which would explain why they weren't at the funeral. I really should have figured it out when they didn't show, but that's not important now. What's important is that you never, ever make a decision like this again that affects me like that. I don't care if it endangers me or you think it's for the best, I just can't... we can't... I can't have that happen, I can't walk around always wondering if you're keeping something from me."

He moved closer and sat down opposite Sherlock now. "Sherlock, I'm sorry that I've been overprotective of you these past weeks, but this is not just something you get over in a few days. This has a lasting effect, for both of us and we need to work through it together. That's why I'm taking things slow. Neither of us needs to be hurt anymore."

 

Sherlock stared at John, momentarily at a loss for words. 

What was John saying? Taking things slow. Things? What things? His recovery? Yes, John had been protective of him, but that hadn't surprised him. John had been like that even before. Whenever he had gotten hurt, John would fret and fuss until Sherlock was ready to throttle him. And at the same time, he liked it. Seeing John care about his well being. About him. 

 _Trust issues, Sherlock. Do keep up._  
  


Mycroft's voice interrupted his thoughts. Of course. John would need to learn to trust him again, like he had done before. He needed to allow himself to be Sherlock's friend again. Sherlock had lied, multiple times, he had forced John through grief. 

'If I am not allowed to make those decisions to keep you safe, why should I allow you to disregard them?' Sherlock muttered, hoping John would understand.

 

"Sherlock, it's not about keeping me safe, I understand why you did what you did, but when two people are in a relationship together, they have to trust each other." He reached out and took Sherlock's hands and held them gently in his.  "We have to trust that no matter how bad or good things are, we deal with them together. You wouldn't have like it had I done that to you."

Sherlock tried to interrupt to say something but John quickly shushed him.  

 

"What I am saying Sherlock is we can get through things better together than alone trying to protect or keep the other safe.  Sherlock, you mean so much to me and when you did that it hurt and I never want to hurt like that again.  I also know that you are hurting from what you experienced and you don't have to go through it alone.  We can heal together, but you have to open up and trust my judgement, just like I'm trusting you by coming back here to be with you.  So when I want to proceed carefully and not let you do something yet, it's not because I think you can't handle it, I'm worried about how it will affect you.  I just want to so things right this time"

 

Relationship?

Sherlock's chest did something strange when he heard John say that word and he tried to ignore it. John had Mary. John was not gay. He meant their platonic friendship most likely. He was asking Sherlock to trust him and Sherlock knew that he wanted nothing more for John to trust him again as well. 

Two way street. Honesty. For John he was willing to try.

'I just need- ' Sherlock struggled to find the words. 'Being cooped up in here just serves as a reminder that I left in the first place. I need to breathe in London again, to feel it. I... missed this city, John.'

 

John watched him as he spoke and understood how he felt.  He hated feeling that way when he first came back to London but the situations were different, the whole of London didn't know who he was or think him dead.

John let go of Sherlock's hands and put his hands on Sherlock's knees, rubbing them a little to calm him.  John could tell underneath it all he was starting to tense a bit.  "We'll go out for a bit, but if it gets to be too much we come home straight away.  No making a scene and you aren't wearing your usual attire.  I want us to blend in, not stand out. Ok?  Promise me those three things and we can go."

 

Sherlock took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax as John dropped his hands to his knees and rubbed them. Ever since their return to Baker Street these kind of touches had become more frequent and Sherlock still wasn't quite sure how to feel about them or why John was allowing himself this now. 

Was it reassurance? A physical reminder that he was truly alive and back? Or just comfort for him? Both? 

'I should have something in the wardrobe that should fit your requirements,' Sherlock said and he rose from the sofa. 'I'll just go and change then, shall I?'

It took Sherlock hardly any time at all to pick something - dark jeans and an old hooded pullover - and get changed. 

'Hurry up, John!' Sherlock called out when he darted out his bedroom and to the stairs. 

 

John chuckled at Sherlock's exuberance and popped up from the couch and followed him with little delay as he grabbed his coat from the hook and shut the door and locked it.  


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack

John was pleased to see Sherlock adjusting well to the hustle and bustle of the streets. Admittedly it could have been worse, but it was the middle of the afternoon so things weren't all that busy. No one bothered to look at them twice as they wandered aimlessly for a bit before John suggested Regent's Park. Sherlock agreed and they soon found themselves strolling through Queen Mary's Gardens.

 

Sherlock sighed in relief when they made it outside. Despite it being a slow day - the weather was making a turn for the worse now that November was well under way - it still felt the same as always. It felt alive, with the rush of traffic and the bustling of tourists everywhere. He felt the heart of it quivering in his veins and he couldn't help but smile for a moment as he took in his surroundings. 

Streams of information were coming to him as he and John walked aimlessly until their feet carried them to Regent's Park. 

They kept silent, both deep in thought, until Sherlock spotted a couple, walking not far from them. He grinned. 

'He is going to propose,' Sherlock said suddenly, nodding his head to the couple so John would look. 'He keeps fidgeting his hand inside his pocket and adjusting his glasses. She already knows - look at her smile. And she keeps looking over to him, waiting. She should just get it over with and ask him herself.' 

 

John knew exactly what Sherlock was referring to before he even voiced it. He supposed that he probably had that same look around Mary those few short weeks ago when they spent the weekend away and he proposed. Now here he was taking care of his once 'dead' best friend and beginning to question his relationship status with his girlfriend - fiancee, he thought as he shook his head. John diverted Sherlock's attention elsewhere that was definitely something he didn't want to be discussing with the detective since he still hadn't told Sherlock he was engaged.

Sherlock didn't seem to notice that's what John was doing or chose to ignore it as John steered him towards one of the vendors.

‘Come on, I could use something to drink and so could you.’

 

Sherlock said nothing but followed John nonetheless and he turned away from the couple without a second glance.

It was quiet. No queue and just a handful of people were lingering around the building to consume whatever it was they bought. Tourists mostly. Sherlock paid them no heed. 

Instead he watched John ordering some sweet beverages for them both and the woman behind the counter - _dating her colleague, he's working today and they spent their break snogging in the back. Her father owns this place._

Oh and there was said boyfriend. Ugh, it practically oozes from them. 

'Here you go.'

Sherlock took the bottle from John and they sat in silence. Sherlock had turned his head a little but he could still see them behind the counter. 

With nothing to do, the woman has taken it upon herself to tease him. He was carrying boxes, ready to restock and grinning like loon at something she said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away. 

But there was something, trickling down from the back of his neck along his spine, that made him feel on edge all of sudden.

The group of tourists were laughing loudly and the sound grated in Sherlock's ears. He could hear banging - someone wildly telling a story using his hands; the man restocking with a little more haste and force than necessary because he wants to go out back - and a sudden weight around his chest made breathe in deeply. 

 

‘So I was thinking that since this seems to be going well, maybe we should start making this an afternoon habit, maybe an after lunch each day, pick a different section of town and see how it goes. What do you think?’

John took a sip from his bottle and hadn't really been paying much attention to Sherlock. He had been trying to give him space and not hover so he could accurately measure the effects of their outing on Sherlock. He was busy watching some ducks walking through the gardens when he realised Sherlock hadn't answered him.

John quickly turned his attention back to Sherlock who was sitting quietly staring intently at the bottle he held.

‘Do you not like it? You want mine instead?’ he asked keeping the conversation light and holding his bottle out to see if the detective would respond or if he was perhaps stuck deep in thought.

 

Sherlock couldn't hear John. 

The noises around them blended together -  _bang! bang! laughing, why are they laughing, God make them stop laughing, bang! bang! -_ and his skin felt tight around his bones and he was cold. So cold. 

_Do you remember sleep?_

_No! This isn't real, I'm not there anymore, stop it!_

Sherlock gritted his teeth and focused on the movements of the liquid in his bottle.  _It was shaking. Why was it shaking, it made no sense? Am I moving? Just breathe. Keep breathing, you're fine. Nothing is wrong._

But the minute Sherlock tried to breathe in deeply through his nose, the sound of something metallic toppling over startled him. In his haste to turn around and look, he let the bottle fall from his hands. The cap popped off the moment it hit the ground, soaking his shoes. 

_Get up! Get out of here, before..._

Sherlock couldn't move. His limps felt like lead and his hands wouldn't stop trembling. His lungs felt like they were on fire and the pain...  _oh God it hurts! They must have shackled him aga... NO! You're not there. You're in London, you're home and John's safe and this. is. not. real! Find something. Anything to calm you down!_

_Redbeard._ _John. 221B._

But the walls of his mind palace were collapsing and darkening all around him and he kept hearing their laughter and Moriarty's voice was taunting him, telling him to jump. John was turning his back to him, walking away with a woman whose face he could not see. His heart was pounding fast and the sound of it kept echoing all around him. 

_Calm down! NOW!_

 

When Sherlock dropped his bottle, John knew something wasn't right. He scooted closer to him while placing his own bottle on the ground, ignoring the fact that Sherlock's had spilled all over the place. He put his hand on Sherlock's knee and leaned in.

‘Sherlock,’ he began with a calm and steady voice which he kept low as not to draw attention to them. ’Deep breaths. Sherlock, listen to me. We're in London, it's a gorgeous day out and we are in the park.'

John could feel some of the edge leave Sherlock's body as he put his hand on his knee, but Sherlock was barely responding to his voice, and if they wanted to avoid a scene or have Sherlock get worse, he had to think of something quick. 

He moved his hand from Sherlock's knee up to his cheek and brought their eyes together. He knew he was taking a giant risk at this point, but if he didn't catch this now it could get much worse and he didn't want to resort to using the sedative he had brought along just in case something like this had happened.

‘Sherlock, look at me.’

Sherlock's eyes lifted and locked on John's and John could see the storm brewing there. He had tried to tell them it was too soon for this but no use dwelling on that now.

‘Sherlock, listen to my voice. I know you can do this, you said you were ready and I believe you, so now listen to me. See that couple over there by the lake, tell me about them. Why are they here today?’

 

Sherlock tried to focus on John, but his vision was blurring around the edges. 

_Breathe._

It sounded so easy. He once considered it boring but now, when he could hardly suck in enough air to keep himself from becoming lightheaded, he was forced to reevaluate. 

He managed to raise his hands and he found John's jacket. Sherlock latched on. 

His mind palace failed him so he tried to focus on the man in front of him. 

John. Looking worried, cradling his head, forcing him to keep looking at him. He could do that. He had to!

Listen. That voice. His calm steady voice, trying to talk him down from this. Trying to keep him for drifting. 

His heart kept thundering loudly in his ears but John's voice sounded above it like a beacon. Latch on. Focus on that! 

Sherlock couldn't make out what John was saying, he just kept looking at his eyes, his moving lips, the way the sun danced on his face. He focused on the feeling of John's jacket in his hands, the warmth of the hand on his cheek and Sherlock the tightness around his chest loosen a little. 

_Breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.
> 
> Two little words that don’t even come close to the appreciation and love I feel for every single one of you who have decided to take the time to read our little stories, kudo it and/or comment on them.  
> Every time when I receive a screenshot with your comments from Sherrllocked while I’m stuck at work, even the most busy evening gets bearable. And when I look at the statistics of our stories, my heart makes a little summersault in my chest. 
> 
> Thank you. I can’t say it enough and I’m sure Sherrllocked completely agrees with me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


	24. Chapter 24

John began rubbing little circles with his thumb over Sherlock's cheek trying to soothe him while bringing him back from the edge as quickly as he could. If he didn't he'd have to resort to the sedative he'd hidden in his pocket and dealing with an irate Sherlock later. He wanted to avoid that at all costs possible.

‘Sherlock, hey, focus on the sound of my voice. We need to learn to get you through these if you want to get back to cases, yea? I've got your back. I'm here and we will get through this together. You and me against the rest of the world just like it's always been.’

That's when he saw the recognition in Sherlock's eyes and knew he was on the right track.

‘And I can't handle the cases without my detective so I need him to show me he can still deduce like he was earlier, so what have you got for me?’

 

Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on him - _'_ _keep your eyes fixed on me!'_ \- but he still couldn't hear him properly over the rush in his ears. Or perhaps he could but the words would refuse to register in his panicking mind. 

He held on to John's jacket nonetheless, trying to match John's breathing - a bit slower than the average human male, always has been - and slowly, so very slowly, the fog lifted around him. 

_Focus._

_Breathe._

_Look at me._

Sherlock's eyes shot momentarily to the couple John had referred to, ignoring the wave of vertigo. 

'Soldier,' Sherlock said with a small voice. 'She just got back or is leaving again.' He should be able to spot the difference. Not now though. Now he barely picked up the basics and oh God what if that didn't change? What if his mind had betrayed him forever? 

A deep shuddering breath escaped him and he focused back on John's face. 

_Calm down._

_Home._

_Redbeard._

_John._

_Home._

'I want to go home.'

 

John let out a small sigh of relief. Sure, Sherlock wasn't anywhere near himself, but at least he wasn't shaking as much and he was talking now, something he wasn't able to do at the start of this attack. John looked around for the best exit from the park, the least crowded and when he located it, he turned his attention back to Sherlock.

‘OK, I'm going to let go of you for just a moment, OK? Need to bin these drinks, then you and I will get out of here and go home and finish sorting this there, so just stay with me. I know it might be hard, but I also know you can do this.’

Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement and John quickly disposed of the drinks. The next big obstacle would be the walk home and weather he could make it that far. John would just have to see how Sherlock managed from here to the exit until he would decide what to do next.

 

Sherlock untangled his fingers from John's jacket and he pushed himself up straighter the moment he could. He felt adrift when John moved away from him, but thankfully, he stayed in his line of vision. He was fine. He was going to be fine as long John was near him. 

'Dr Watson?' 

A familiar female voice suddenly broke through to them both and when John turned to look, he found Anthea standing here, miraculously, without her phone. 

She smiled softly to both of them, nodding to camera on the outside of the building monitoring the outside tables, before kneeling down with Sherlock. 

'There is a car waiting for us at the exit of the park,' she said, speaking softly. 'It'll take us to Baker Street.'

 

John would have usually gone on a tirade about being watched over and followed by Mycroft's people, but he was so pleased and relieved to see Anthea that he really couldn’t be arsed less about it or his pride, which consequently had nothing to do with this. He  **had**  told both Mycroft and Sherlock he didn't think this was a wise decision, but he knew the reason Anthea was watching wasn't because they didn't trust John to take proper care of Sherlock, she was watching to back him up - the difference noted by the absence of phone and the way she was dressed (in street clothes), not to mention her genuine concern as she knelt in front of Sherlock.

John returned to Sherlock's side, catching his gaze again and holding out his hand, ‘Come on, let's get you home.’

 

Sherlock took John's hand, grabbing it tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white and he felt Anthea support him at him elbow. His legs were trembling and it was still hard to breathe, but his vision had cleared and with it, his deductions. 

'That woman,' he muttered and John turned to look at the couple at the lake. 'She came back.'

Sherlock kept holding on to John's hand as they walked, while Anthea hovered nearby allowing them a little privacy. Which each step Sherlock felt the tension leave his body until he could finally breathe again. But he still didn't let John go. 

When they stepped into the car waiting for them - blessedly free of Mycroft - he still didn't let go and if Anthea saw it, she didn't comment on it.


	25. Chapter 25

The trip back to Baker Street took no time at all and John was impressed that even during that time, he did not see Anthea’s phone once. He knew Mycroft would get a full report once they were dropped off and she was on her way back to the office, but he appreciated this gesture from her now. It also made him realise that she was just more than one of Mycroft’s hired hands. In fact in all the years John had known the Holmes’ brothers, she was one of the few constants in their lives, and that made a very loud statement.

Sherlock sat close to John, never letting go of him and even though the shaking had ceased, John knew he was still on edge. It would be alright though, they would soon be home, and they would find a way to right this and get Sherlock calmed down and back on track. It would also give John a reference point now when Sherlock thought things were moving to slow. John would never hold it over his head, but use it as a learning experience for both of them, everyone handled things differently and he had been having a hard time making Sherlock see that prior to this incident.

When they arrived outside the flat, John leaned forward before opening the door and put his hand on Anthea’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for this, and tell him that this wasn’t a step backwards but something we can learn from. As far as Mycroft is concerned, he was right in part, I can’t coddle him forever, but these things do take time and this is what we will work on now. Please tell him though I would appreciate he not contact us until tomorrow. It’s going to take some time for him to center again and I don’t want Sherlock to feel rushed or that he has to prove himself to anyone.’

‘I will pass along the message Doctor. And it’s no problem. My job now and in the immediate future is to assist you and Sherlock in whatever way I can.’

That actually touched John, for Mycroft to permanently assign Anthea to Sherlock, well that was… ‘Thank you and I will keep you informed of anything we might need.’

She nodded as John opened the door and they exited the car.

‘Come on you,’ he directed at Sherlock, ‘let’s get you inside and get you some tea.’

 

By the time they returned to Baker Street, Sherlock could breathe again. His heart rate had slowed as he watched the city roll past them. The closer they got to home, the more he calmed. 

Sherlock felt exhausted. His body felt like it had gone through a wringer and something else, something hot and furious, burned in his gut.

Shame. 

He had persisted. He had wanted to go out because he was getting tired of John’s worrying. And now his mind had betrayed him so viciously. And John had seen him break down as a result.

Sherlock stayed close to John, not acknowledging Anthea at all, as they exited the car and entered the flat. 

He kept silent as he walked up the stairs and fell down, face first, on the sofa.

 

At least he didn’t go and hide in his room, John thought to himself. John shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the hook before moving to the kitchen to start the tea he had suggested on their trip home. He got everything ready with as little noise as he could and took both cups into the room and sat them on the table. He then turned and surveyed the situation, he decided he would join Sherlock on the sofa, or at least try to anyway.

‘Mind if I join you?’ John asked, placing his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

Sherlock didn’t respond. He did shift his body so John would have room to sit, but he kept his face hidden from view. He tried not to bristle at John’s careful touch - _before this, John wouldn’t have been hesitant_ \- and Sherlock bit his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming in frustration.

_I don’t break, John! I didn’t break there and I won’t now. I’m fine!_

_But you’re not though, are you?_

Sherlock snarled at Moriarty’s voice in his head, taunting him and he shrugged John’s hand away from him. He would not stand those pity touches. He couldn’t bear them, not from John.

 

He may not have said a word, but his body’s reaction spoke volumes, and it definitely was Sherlock like. He didn’t exactly flinch at John’s hand on his shoulder, more than he seemed to be put off by the mere fact that John had asked such an apparent stupid question. John knew all too well what this war in the mind and body was like when one suffered from the effects of PTSD. He may not have the same triggers or experiences as Sherlock but he could sure as hell identify the symptoms, and the fact that the detective was trying to hide them now was disconcerting. He understood why though, he knew the man lying before him didn’t want pity. He had felt the exact same things when he was invalided home and he had refused all help until he had met Sherlock. When he had met Sherlock, things had changed in every aspect of his life and somehow, without words Sherlock had helped John through the worst of his attacks until they became less and less as over time. However Sherlock was not John and needed a somewhat different approach. It was then John knew exactly what Sherlock needed, to hit this full on, no coddling, no hiding behind anything, just face it and let things fall where they may, which is why he was emboldened to make the move he did.

Instead of taking the opposite end of the couch like he was going to, he dropped to his knees and turned Sherlock to face him.

‘OK, I have no qualms about doing this your way if you want to face this head on. I know you won’t break and I know this isn’t easy, but you need to tell me what you need me to do. I only hesitate because I don’t want to make it worse for you by triggering another attack or by pushing you to hard. Neither of us need that, but you can’t hide from me, not on this.’ Sherlock had rolled his eyes dramatically and tried rolling back when John caught him by the wrists and pulled him so they were face to face, the barest of inches between them. ‘Sherlock, this isn’t going away and neither am I, please let me help you.’

 

Sherlock’s throat clenched and burned when he saw the sincerity of John’s words on his face. Sherlock didn’t want to need anyone. He wanted nothing more than to get on with his life. Solve cases, chase criminals. But he couldn’t even handle a single day outside. 

Useless. He was absolutely useless like this.

John might stay with him for now, but what if he would never turn back into the man he was before? What is he was forced to stay inside for the rest of his life because his damnable brain couldn’t register the difference between being tortured and the sounds of London? John thrived on the excitement and cases as much as he did. What if he got bored?

‘I don’t…’ Sherlock trailed off. The words wouldn’t come to him. How could he tell John what he could do, if he didn’t know it himself? ‘I don’t want this,’ he eventually bit out, his eyes begging John to understand. 'It makes no sense. I knew where I was and still…’

 

John knew exactly how Sherlock was feeling. He let his grip lessen on his wrists, raised a hand to Sherlock’s cheek to soothe him. ’I know it makes no sense and I know that’s the scariest part for you, not being able to control your mind. It’s not so much that you can’t, you just have to relearn how. It was too much at one time for someone who hasn’t been used to that much activity for a bit. That’s why I wanted to wait and take it slower. It’s not because I don’t think you aren’t capable of getting through this, we just have to approach it slowly. Some days will go better than others and you just need to be patient. And you also have to lower your expectations, it won’t all fall back into place just like that.’ John took a breath, to make sure he wasn’t flooding Sherlock with too much information therefore distressing him. Sherlock seemed to be ok, following what John was trying to get him to understand.

‘Plus, I think we’ve both overlooked something. You did extremely well all things considered. We were out for a considerable amount of time before it got to be too much and you did an extraordinary job holding it together so we could get home safe. So it wasn’t a loss today Sherlock, you just have to take it slow and talk about things, try to put them into words and not keep them bottled up and I promise I will be here to help you however I can for as long as you let me.’

By this time, John’s hand had wandered from Sherlock’s cheek, into his curls, lightly stroking his scalp to ease the tension that was racing through Sherlock’s body.

 

‘I hate this,’ Sherlock muttered. His eyes were cast down to the floor, trying to avoid John’s concerned gaze but he was leaning into the touch. He felt exhausted, drained, completely taken through the wringer. His muscles felt weak and the more John stroked through his hair to calm him, the more he felt his body grow heavier. 

It was ridiculous, he tried to argue with himself. He had never required this much sleep. Before, Sherlock had hated the fact that his body needed sleep at all. All that time wasted. Now though, he craved it against his will.

 

‘I know you do love,' John murmured. 'How bout we get you to bed now? You need the extra rest, we can eat later.’ John hadn't even realised what exactly what he had said, and when he did, he thought it best not to draw any attention to it, hoping Sherlock was too drained to catch his exact wording. He untangled his one hand from Sherlock’s curls and rose from the floor - his knees were going to be mad at him later, but ah well - and he held his hand out for Sherlock.

It seemed to take all the effort Sherlock had to lift his arm so John made sure to wrap his arm around the detective’s waist when he finally made it to his feet. It took a considerable bit of time to make it back the hallway to Sherlock’s room and John left him sitting on the edge of the bed while he retrieved their pajamas. By the time he returned, Sherlock had already slumped down to his side already and pulled his legs up onto the bed.

‘Oh no, you are not sleeping in your clothes, come on, help me out here.’ John said, taking the detective’s arm and tugging him back up into somewhat of a sitting position.

 

Sherlock let himself be manhandled by John into the bedroom and onto the bed. John helped him, swiftly and professionally, to get him out of his clothes and into his pajamas. During these past few weeks, John had seen him in various states of undress already and Sherlock had already made peace with the fact that he required help on occasion. So Sherlock didn’t fight it. He tried to help, but his fingers were still beyond his control and felt like they had been doused in ice. But John didn’t seem to mind at all. 

Finally, with his pajamas on and his bandages checked, Sherlock was allowed to settle underneath the covers. John moved to the other side of the bed without prompting and Sherlock could hear the sound of him toeing off his shoes before the bed dipped with John’s weight.Sherlock turned to him without hesitation, not quite touching, but close enough to reach out if necessary. Close enough to breathe in John’s smell.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to fall asleep, his eyes falling shut almost instantly and his breathing falling into a steady rhythm. 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Nightmares

The first time John tried to move, Sherlock’s hand reached for his, so he turned to his side and stayed a bit longer, began humming to him again. This time he could see Sherlock’s body relax completely, but he gave it an extra fifteen minutes before he dared to move again.

It had been a long day and he wanted to grab a quick bite to eat and maybe a quick hot shower before retiring for the evening. He pushed himself up from the bed and waited several minutes before sneaking out to the kitchen to have some leftover take away. He was enjoying the peace and quiet until his phone buzzed. He peaked at the display - Mycroft. With a roll of his eyes he answered. ‘What do you want?’

 

‘Always lovely talking to you, John,’ Mycroft’s sighed on the other end of the line, clearly already annoyed by John’s aggressive ways towards him. Mycroft peered at the screen in front of him - the grainy image showed him his brother’s former flatmate, sans shoes, enjoying a left over meal in the kitchen, while Sherlock slept in their bedroom.

Their bedroom. Mycroft frowned when he caught himself making that slip-up. It wasn’t  _their_ bedroom, despite all evidence to the contrary. John wasn’t even formally living at Baker Street. John, who was currently looking around in search for the camera which he would never find.

Right. 

Back to the matter at hand. 

‘I have received a concerning rapport from Anthea regarding my brother’s behaviour this afternoon. I’m calling to inquire after his health. He looked… unwell.’ 

 

‘He’s better now,' John's answered. 'And as I told you before, rushing these things is not the way to go and no matter which way you go, you’re just going to have to be patient.’ 

John continued eating, not planning on divulging any more information than necessary. 

‘You just need to give this time and listen to what I tell you. I’m his doctor first and foremost and only have his best interest in mind. It will come. And the less pressure put on him, the smoother things will go. Now if that’s all I have some things to do.’

Mycroft’s mouth tightened in the beginnings of a snarl at John’s less than subtle 'I told you so’. Mycroft had been convinced Sherlock was ready. That he was ready to be the man he used to be again. But after seeing his little brother like he had when they had come home, he doubted if that would ever again be the case. Yes, he had these concerns the moment he found Sherlock in Serbia, but he had suspected - he had hoped - that that was the direct result of the trauma, intensified by his poor psychical state. But Sherlock’s body had nearly fully healed and after today, there could be no doubt; Sherlock was not well at all.

‘And as a doctor, do you often take residence in their beds?’

Mycroft wasn’t a fool. He might not have cameras in Sherlock’s bedroom - not anymore at least - but he knew John had been sleeping there. He also knew that Sherlock cared more for the dear doctor than he dared to admit to himself and that said doctor had a fiancée in the suburbs. John would leave, sooner rather than later, and Mycroft was scared for Sherlock’s wellbeing. By staying as long as he did, John had given Sherlock hope. Hope, that he couldn’t afford to have.  

 

John could let a lot of things slide but not this, even if he knew Mycroft was right to point.

‘What goes on between Sherlock and I is really none of your concern, so why don’t you piss off and be patient and let me do my job.’ He disconnected before Mycroft could come back with some kind of retort, and to no one’s surprise the phone immediately started buzzing.

‘Look, I told you to bugger off, is it really so hard to take a hint?’ he barked into the phone assuming it was Mycroft. He was met with silence which caused him to pull the phone back and look at the display. Mary. Oh god, he really didn’t need this conversation now either.

‘Mary, I’m sorry. I thought you were Mycroft, it’s just been a long trying day and all I wanted was a bit of quiet, some time to enjoy a small bite to eat and then a bit of time to relax before bed. I just can’t stand everyone demanding answers I don’t have.’ He cringed as soon as that last bit that left his mouth.

 _"Oh, I see then, I’ll just let you to yourself then. Sorry if I wanted to see how my fiancée was doing, offer my support in a situation that I know must be trying.’_ And just like that, the phone was silent again.

Well, this day was going smashingly well.

_Look, that wasn’t directed at you, Sherlock had a not so good episode out today that I advised against and Mycroft just read me the riot act. Please, I thought it was Mycroft calling back not you. Don’t be mad at me as well, I just can’t bare it._

He hesitated before he pressed send. He really wasn’t sure what he was asking for anymore, their relationship had been slowly changing over the past few weeks and he wasn’t sure if he really cared whether she was mad or not. I guess he would wait to see what her response was.

In any event, his most pressing concern was Sherlock so he quickly finished his take away and returned to the bedroom to get ready for bed. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was more than ready himself, it had been quite the trying day.

Mycroft wasn’t surprised when John hung up on him, but he continued to watch. And listen.

Mary Morstan. The mysterious fiancée. Due to his dealings with Sherlock abroad, she had slipped into John Watson’s life unnoticed. And now that Mycroft could find the time to research her, there were things that didn’t add up. Nothing harmful, but there was surprisingly little in her file. Parents deceased; car crash. Killed them both. No siblings. A list of her schools and jobs before and after graduating as a nurse. And that was it.

Mycroft frowned as John made his way into Sherlock’s bedroom and closing the door softly behind him. He hoped John knew what he was doing; it would break his heart to see his little brother get hurt more.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

_Sherlock could feel the shackles biting into his skin. It was dark around him and the smell of his waste and sweat made his stomach roll. He was alone and Sherlock felt relief swept through his body at that observation. He could still feel the whip and pipes beating down on him. At least, when he was alone, he wouldn’t be hurt. Mycroft would come. He would save him. He always saved him._

 

John quietly made his way into the room, changing quickly into his pyjamas and making his way to his side of the bed. He stood silently waiting for Sherlock to settle. He must be dreaming about something, though nothing too terrible as he was not thrashing about. When his movements stilled, John lifted the covers back and crawled in settling close enough that the detective could feel his presence, but not close enough to touch. That he would let happen on its own if it needed to.

_Sherlock could hear the door opening and his heart began to race. They were back. They would hit him, taunt him, torture him. He needed to be quiet, give them nothing. Tell them nothing that would endanger John.  
_

_But there was no pain. It never came. Instead, Sherlock felt a comfortable warmth settle close to him and even though he could not see what was the cause of it, he felt his body relax. Safe. Familiar. John._  

The change in the atmosphere was almost immediate, it became less hostile, more calm, and Sherlock settled instantly, even gravitated towards where John lie. Maybe Mycroft was right, maybe this was wrong, but he didn’t care. All he knew is that this was what both of them needed to heal if they wanted any chance of getting back to the men they used to be.

Sherlock mumbled something John didn’t quite catch and John whispered, ‘Shhhh, s'alright now. I’m here. I’ve got you Sherlock. Always.‘

  
But Sherlock’s head would not allow him a full night’s rest. The hours passed quietly and John had fallen asleep next to him, their hands reaching out but not quite touching, when Sherlock’s dreams twisted and turned into something ugly again. 

Moriarty’s voice taunted him, echoing through every hallway of his mind palace. Chasing him. And it felt wrong, the entire place was wrong. The halls and rooms had shifted and Sherlock was running without knowing where he was going.

He needed to find John, because they would kill him. They knew he was alive and they would kill John because he made a mistake. But he couldn’t get out. The doors were locked, blocking his path and the ways out were no longer there. 

The walls melted around him, the ground shook and Sherlock kept running, panicking, calling out to John, hoping he would hear him.

 

It had maybe been three hours since John had joined him in bed, darkness enveloped the room. He felt Sherlock moving before he actually heard him wailing in his sleep. His eyes opened instantly and it took a few moments for them to adjust to the darkness but when they did, he was able to gather what was going on. Sherlock must have been stuck in a nightmare, he wasn’t exactly thrashing about, but John could tell he was in distress.

He reached out and laced his fingers into Sherlock’s closet hand. ‘Shh, it’s alight. I’m here Sherlock. I’ve got you.’ He felt Sherlock’s body easing, but it still wasn’t enough and after that day’s earlier debacle in the park, he didn’t need Sherlock having another episode like that so he did what he thought would help calm him down, and ground him to the here and now. He pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him, letting his fingers twine into his curls to soothe him. He began to talk to him in steady hushed tones.

‘I’ve got you Sherlock. You’re safe now, and I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you ever again.‘

Sherlock startled awake the moment John's fingers laced in between his own. He could hear John talking, but the words didn't mean anything. Sherlock could still hear Moriarty's taunts. His heart was pounding widely in his chest and his stomach rolled dangerously. 

 

But John kept talking. Slowly, ever so slowly, Sherlock sight adjusted to the darkness around them, allowing him to see John's concerned face. Unharmed. John was fine. Another nightmare, nothing more. 

When John pulled him closer, Sherlock let it happen, desperate for the other man's comfort. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's torso, settling his head on John's chest. His heartbeat. Steady. Strong. 

 

Sherlock closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus only on the sound of John's voice, his heartbeat and his fingers in his curls. He'd be alright. John was here. He'd keep him safe. 

 

Sherlock took a deep breath, relaxing more against John's body. His hand settled against John's neck, brushing his fingers against the nape of John's neck. 

From there things just sort of happened, maybe it was the stillness of the night now that they were awake and aware of each other's presence. They were so close now, John could feel Sherlock's breathe ghosting over his lips, at first it had been shaky, but now as his surroundings were coming to him, and his hand settled against John's neck, John clouldn't help what happened next, it just felt natural. He coaxed Sherlock closer, there was no space between them now, he rested his forehead against Sherlock's and brushed his fingers against his cheek.

 

‘You're safe Sherlock. You're here with me, and I will never let anyone hurt you ever again.‘ His lips brushed over Sherlock's with the lightest of touches. ‘I promise.‘

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, we are stunned by the amount of attention this had been getting. We thank you all from the bottom of our hearts. Every hit, every kudo, every comment fills us both with so much pride and joy. Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> AND OMG THEIR LIPS TOUCHED!
> 
> FINALLY!


	27. Chapter 27

‘John…' 

Sherlock breathed out against John’s lips. He kept his eyes closed. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to handle the disappointment if this turned out to be a dream. 

It wasn't until Sherlock felt John’s fingers brush his cheeks, drawing him in closer and the soft pressure of John's lips increased on Sherlock's own, that he realised that this was real. Sherlock fingers tightened on the warm skin of John’s neck while his other hand shifted, settling on John’s chest to feel his heart hammering against his fingertips.

 _Real,_ his mind kept repeating. _John was here. His lips on mine_.  _Finally!_

Sherlock's breath rushed out of his lungs in shock, but he didn’t let go of John. He couldn’t.

‘John,’ he exhaled again. Sherlock opened his eyes, meeting John’s gaze. 

 

John’s brain screamed at him that this was a horrendously bad idea, but it felt so right and he had to know. He had to know if Sherlock felt the same way. If he did, well that changed everything. There would be no way he could go through being in a relationship with Mary if Sherlock had feelings for him. Hell, the only reason he had asked Mary to marry him is because he was sick to death of people telling him that’s what he should be doing - _don’t you think it’s about time you moved on with your life_? Christ, why was he thinking of this now? Because his brain needed to be sure, that’s why.

John’s eyes had been open, observing Sherlock and when Sherlock finally opened his meeting John’s gaze, John knew. There was no question in his mind. They stayed close and when Sherlock’s warm breath ghosted over John’s lips in the form of his name, he was done for. He leaned forward again, softly nipping at those plush lips, fingers tightening around those silky curls,

‘God, I never...’ John stopped. He couldn’t seem to find the right words, they all just wanted to spill out in a jumble that wouldn’t make any sense.

‘Sherlock, I love you.’ That was the simplest and truest statement he could make without stumbling over any words. There was no reason to hide it anymore, hell any one with two eyes could see what had been progressing between the two men ever since Sherlock had returned. The only thing that would complicate this was the world outside the walls of 221b and they would find a way to deal with that. They always did, well, at least they would if this is what Sherlock wanted to.

‘Sherlock?’

 

Sherlock stared, taking in a sharp breath when John uttered those three words. Three simple words and yet Sherlock felt a weight lift away from him now John had said them out loud to him. But his own words got stuck in his throat. Sherlock’s hand that had settled over John’s chest, tightened its hold on John’s shirt, keeping the other man close, as he pressed his face against John’s neck, hiding himself from view. But John seemed to understand. 

He didn’t let go. Instead, Sherlock felt John’s arms around him bring him in closer. 

And it struck Sherlock, that in all those weeks he had been back in England, and all the days he had been back at Baker Street, he had never felt such at home and secure, as he did now. 

 

John ran his finger through Sherlock’s hair and let him keep his face buried in his neck. He knew this was probably a bit much for the detective right now so he just kept talking to him while he held him close.

‘You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to listen and to think about what I have to say to you and when you’re ready we can talk about it. OK?’ He felt Sherlock nod, so he continued.

‘I can’t hide the fact how I feel about you anymore and I know that things are a tad bit complicated on my end, but I will sort them all out. I will take care of it. In fact I’m pretty sure she knows it’s been coming anyway. That’s part of the reason I hadn’t wanted her here. She knows how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you. I didn’t want her bringing it up in front of you when I wasn’t sure how you felt because I knew it was a possibility and you didn’t need to be blindsided like that. Also since I imagine she’ll be madder than hell, you don’t need to be caught in the middle. This has nothing to do with you. This is between her and I and she knows as well as I do that if you were never gone, there would be no her and I to begin with. Enough about her, but I will take care of it as soon as possible.’

He pulled Sherlock closer to him, kissed his forehead softly.

‘God, when Mycroft told me you were alive that day it was like I was slowly waking up from a nightmare. I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy path for us to get back to one another but I vowed from that moment when I knew you were really truly alive, that I was going to do everything in my power to make things right between us. I wasn’t going to waste this second chance that we’d been given. Part of me died that day when you jumped- the best part of me and when you came back…’ he had to pause for a moment and take a deep breath. He cleared his throat, ‘when you came back and I first saw you. I didn’t see a broken man, I saw someone who was just as lost as I was. Someone who was looking for the other part to make himself whole again and that’s when I knew. I also knew I couldn’t rush anything, that I had to let things settle back on their own and they have. It’s not going to be easy and that’s ok because nothing has ever been easy for us but I’m willing to do it Sherlock. If that’s what you want and if you’ll have me.’ 

He cupped Sherlock’s cheeks and pulled his face from out of his neck, ‘I have loved you for so many years and I don’t intend on stopping now, I promised you I’d be here for you no matter what so any silly notions you may have in your head about you not being good enough for me, delete them now. You have always been what’s right for me, exactly what I’ve needed when I’ve needed it. Don’t think I don’t know about your violin compositions you played for me when I suffered my nightmares or the scores of other little things you do only for me. I know Sherlock. So now let me be that for you and we will get through this together like we always have,’

He pressed a light kiss to Sherlock’s lips, ‘I love you and nothing will ever change that.’

 

Sherlock's words got stuck in his throat when he took in John's words. This was so much more than he had ever dared to imagine. He had thought that John had been afraid to let Mary near him, because Sherlock had a history of chasing John's girlfriends away. But the truth was enough to render him speechless. 

He stared at John, taking deep breaths, chasing after John's lips. Sherlock couldn't believe was allowed to do this right now. All those lonely months away from Baker Street, away from John, had now finally led to this. And there was so much he wanted to say and Sherlock couldn't get the damnable words out of his mouth. 

Sherlock managed to nod before pressing himself as close as possible to John's body. Even though he wanted to kiss John more, his body and mind felt absolutely drained by the day's events. 

 

John kept his arms wrapped around Sherlock and held him close.  

 

'I know you're exhausted and I know you're trying to fight it, but don't. I'm here, I've got you and I'll be here in the morning or the next time you wake if it's sooner. I also know you have plenty to say but probably don't know where to start. That's why you should rest now. It's a lot to take in, what I've just told you and you'll need to process it and then we can talk about it but I know Sherlock, I know that you return my feelings so please don't think by you failing to say anything at this point makes me think you don't care. I know you better.'

 

John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's lips. 'Now let's get some rest.  We both need it and you can barely keep your eyes open.'

 

He felt Sherlock snuggle in close to him and twine his legs in between his. He'd never thought Sherlock would be one for cuddling, but he wasn't about to refuse the detective's needs, not when it was one of John's favourite things to do.

 

 

Pressed close against John's body, Sherlock had never felt secure and protected in his life. He turned his head a little, nuzzling his nose against John's neck. Sherlock could feel and hear John's heart beating and with that reassuring him, he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your responses. I know it has been a very long journey before our boys even kissed, but we promise you all; we are not done yet. 
> 
> We have two words for you though: VATICAN CAMEOS!
> 
> But for now: FLUFF!!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not get used to the fluff...

When Sherlock woke, the sun was already up and despite the cold November morning, he felt warm. And rather limited in his movements.   
But instead of the feeling of cold shackles holding him back, Sherlock felt hands - John’s hands - holding him close.  
  
John!  
  
The memories of the night before came rushing back to him and Sherlock pulled his head back roughly, opening his eyes. John frowned at the sudden movement but he didn’t wake. And Sherlock stared.   
  
_I have kissed those lips. John kissed me. He said he loves me and he’ll come back. He’ll come back here!_  
  
Very carefully, Sherlock untangled his hand and placed it over John’s chest. Heartbeat. Steady. Strong. Like the man himself. And as Sherlock watched the man in his arms slowly wake up, he realised one thing:   
  
‘I love you too.’ 

John could feel Sherlock moving around. He briefly wondered what time it was, but decided he didn’t really care because he was comfortable and he enjoyed the feel of their legs tangled together and Sherlock’s hand over his heart. 

He knew without opening his eyes Sherlock was observing him, taking in all the changes now that things had shifted in their relationship. 

John had no intention of moving but when Sherlock had finally said ‘I love you too’ his eyes flew open and he lifted his head and their eyes met. 

John couldn’t help the emotions that overcame him in that moment. 

‘Never in a million years did I ever think I’d hear those words fall from your lips, about me. Please tell me this isn’t a dream.’

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile a little when John woke up properly. With their breaths still sour from sleep and their muscles aching with exhaustion, how could John think this was a dream? Those inconvenient circumstances always seemed to disappear in the dreams Sherlock had before. 

'Very real, John,’ Sherlock assured him. He let his thumb slide over John’s chest as proof. 

'Obviously. I have loved you for a while, if I’m honest. I just never knew… or thought you’d feel the same. When I left, I -’ Sherlock’s words failed him. The pain he had felt when he heard John cry out to him, had been indescribable and the loneliness he had felt had nearly crippled him. And yet, Sherlock knew he would have done it all again and would have suffered so much more to ensure John’s safety. He would have stepped aside if that had meant John had been happy. 

John brushed his fingers against Sherlock’s cheeks, while flashes of that day came back to him. John banished them quickly. 

'Why you left - that is a closed chapter as far as I’m concerned. I know all I want to know about it. All I care about is that we are here now. Together. And I mean it. Everything I said last night. There has been so much stolen from us and I don’t intend on wasting any more time.’

John scooted down in the bed so they were face to face, not caring that they had only just awoken. There were mere centimeters between them and John let his fingers fall to Sherlock’s lips to trace them. 

‘I have loved you for so long,’ he whispered before letting his thumb trace Sherlock’s bottom lip, then following with his own lips. 

 

Sherlock shivered when John’s thumb traced the shape of his bottom lip and he responded immediately when John’s lips met his own.   
  
Kissing John was like nothing he could have imagined. He took his time and at the same time Sherlock could taste the care and love from John’s lips. His hand had slid down to Sherlock’s shoulder and the tips of his fingers were caressing the back of Sherlock’s neck.   
Sherlock still had his hand over John’s heart and he felt the organ thump wildly. 

 

John let the tips of his fingers play with the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck. It had been one of many things he had always longed to do. Even though his hair had been mussed by sleep and a little bit of sweat from when his nightmare occurred, it was still soft to the touch. And his lips, oh they were even better than John could have ever imagined - just as soft as they looked and tentative and accepting to John’s attentions. 

‘Hmmm,’ he hummed. ‘I can’t imagine any other better way to wake up each morning.’ 

He smiled as he let his forehead rest against Sherlock’s and his fingers continued to trace Sherlock’s features. He just couldn’t help himself. 

He felt his stomach grumble, reminding them they hadn’t eaten since early afternoon the prior day. 

‘Come, I’ll make you breakfast. You must be hungry, I know I am. And then we can figure out our day.’ He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. ‘First though, I need the loo,’ he grinned as he untangled himself from Sherlock's arm and pushed himself up from the bed. 

‘And don’t think your lounging back here until breakfast is ready,’ John smiled as he grabbed the cuff of Sherlock’s pyjama pants and shook it. ‘I expect you to keep me company while I make our breakfast.’ 

 

Sherlock rolled back to his front, placing himself on the spot John had occupied a moment before. He breathed in deeply. Sherlock felt more calm than he had in months even though nothing had changed much.

Not much.

How ridiculous to think that. Everything had changed. Yes, they had slept together in the same bed before. They had sought each other out in comfort. But John’s word still rang loud and clear in Sherlock’s ears. John loved him. John would stay with him. 

John, who was now annoyingly demanding he get out of bed with him. 

‘I thought bringing breakfast to one’s partner in bed was a custom in new relationships?’ Sherlock asked innocently, opening one eye to regard John.

 

John chuckled, almost allowing Sherlock the luxury because it did sound like wonderful idea, but this was no time to let him start using this new found change in their relationship to worm his way out of things he didn’t feel like doing. At least not yet anyway. John stepped back to the side of the bed and kissed his cheek, ruffled his hair. 

‘Normally I might agree with you but I can only imagine what effect that would have on the rest of the day. Now up, you can argue with me all you like, but you are not spending the day in bed. We have things to do and routines to keep. They may not mean much to you but they do help, and right now would not be a good time for any more setbacks. Come on, I’ll make it worth your while. Promise.’ He said as he held out his hand for Sherlock to take.

 

‘Ugh, routine,’ Sherlock scoffed, but despite his protests, he took John’s hand. 

'I’ve never been a creature of habit, John,’ he kept complaining as they strolled to the kitchen together. Sherlock immediately went to the kettle to pour some fresh water in it, while John busied himself with the toaster. As they had done before Sherlock left, and as they had done nearly every morning since he had come back. They worked in tandem, fixing breakfast, before Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table with his tea in hand. 

That was when he noticed John’s phone. The screen was black - stand-by mode - but the little light in the top right corner was blinking. Missed messages. Sherlock had not heard his own phone, so it wasn’t Mycroft. Mrs Hudson would have come upstairs if she needed them and Lestrade was not even aware he was alive. Had he and John maintained their friendship while he was away?  
Sherlock grabbed the phone while John was still busy with the eggs. When he opened the screen, he wished he hadn’t. Mary’s name popped up - several times - with missed messages and calls and with a clatter, Sherlock let the phone fall back on the table.

 

With his back to the table, John heard the clack of an object hitting the table top and making quite the racket. He knew right away it had been his phone, because that was the only thing heavy enough on the table to make that other than Sherlock’s cup of tea and there was no sound of liquid. He could also guess the reason for the disturbance and he wasn’t mad, just annoyed. He had been hoping she wouldn’t ruin their morning and that he could figure out how to slip away to take care of it like he had promised without Sherlock figuring that’s what he was doing. 

He separated the eggs onto the plated and took them over to the table, placing them at their usual spots. He then stood behind Sherlock, draping his arms around him, not even bothering with his phone. He nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck, placing a few kisses here and there before coming to rest at his ear.

‘Now, there will be no sulking or worrying over this matter. It’s an inconvenience at this point, one that I told you I would take care of and I will as soon as the opportunity presents itself. I am here with you. There is nothing that could happen to change that. Now, we are going to enjoy our breakfast before it gets cold and forget about this, it’s not important.’ He kissed Sherlock’s neck again before reaching for his phone and shutting it off without even looking at the screen.

 

Sherlock let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding when John kissed his neck and turned the phone off. Without a word, he nodded and turned to his breakfast as John went to his usual chair. 

John had changed. Before Sherlock had left, John would have made a fuss - he and Sherlock had argued quite a lot in the beginning when John’s dates had failed because of something Sherlock did, whether it was intentional or not. But John seemed more at ease now himself and comfortable with showing Sherlock affection. Sherlock wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he already craved the kisses and caresses John had given him. 

Their bare feet brushed each other under the table and Sherlock smiled softly into his cup of tea.

 

They enjoyed a quiet breakfast together and John suggested they focus on therapy again, getting Sherlock back in shape; he was still having some issues with his back and John imagined after yesterday’s events and the nightmares last night, his muscles may be a little tight. Sherlock groaned and scoffed at the idea but eventually worked through all the exercises and over did it a bit and whined until John gave him a massage. Sherlock had been face down on the sofa while John kneaded at all the muscles in his back. John knew that this was all an act but was happy to play along. 

After the massage was over he sent Sherlock to take a shower and began to clean up the mess they had made of the flat that morning. Sherlock had been halfway to the bedroom when he had an idea. He turned and went back to John, wrapping his arms around the shorter man, who was bent over the sofa, cleaning it off. Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck. 

‘I’ve an idea,' Sherlock announced, deliberately dropping his voice. 'Why don’t you join me? We can save some water then I’ll help you clean up.’

John almost jumped at the idea, but he had wanted Sherlock occupied for a few moments so he could make a quick phone call without him hearing. He stood up and turned around in Sherlock’s arms and smiled. 

‘That sounds like a fabulous idea, but maybe another time? There’s quite a bit to do and you’re probably tired and needing rest. So why don’t you just go have a quick shower and then lie down and I’ll finish this up quickly and then have a quick shower myself and join you for a rest? Besides, we wouldn’t have to rush through a shower then, and we can spend more time in bed,’ he explained, sweetening the offer and giving Sherlock something to think about other than why John didn’t really want to take a shower right now. He wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him forward into a kiss. ‘I think I’d much rather spend the rest of the afternoon curled up in bed with you, what do you say?’

Sherlock’s eyes went wide at the suggestion and he nodded. John pulled him into another kiss and nibbled on his bottom lip, ‘Mmm then go get ready and I’ll be right behind you as soon as I’m finished in here.’

 

As soon as John heard the shower turn on and knew Sherlock was in the water, he grabbed his phone and turned it on. He dialed Mary’s number and expected her to pick up but it went to voice mail. He left a message.

'Hi, it’s me. Thought I’d be talking to you not leaving a message. I guess you’re pissed at me for not answering your calls this morning but something came up. Something that I needed to work out and that’s why I couldn’t answer just right then. Listen, I know this whole situation has been tough and unfair to you but you and I really need to meet somewhere alone and talk soon. I’m sorry about everything. Talk to you soon.'

 

He looked at the screen as he ended the call, then he checked the time. It was just past lunch, so she’d be working until at least five so he decided to turn his phone back off. He didn’t want any interruptions this afternoon as they rested and he could just use the alarm clock if they planned on napping. He could turn his phone back on before she finished her shift. Everything would work out fine he figured as he heard Sherlock finish in the shower and head to the bedroom. He finished picking things up quickly and yelled back the hall way to Sherlock.

‘I’m going to take a quick shower, be done shortly.’ before disappearing into the bathroom and turning the shower on. 

 

Sherlock had smiled. He had only bothered to put on a pair of pyjama bottoms - John's promise still rang clearly in his ears... 

Sherlock glanced around the room, noting that the sheets were still OK to rest on and everything else seemed to be in order. He walked to the window, drew the curtains to make it a bit darker in the room before moving back to the kitchen for a bottle of water. 

He was standing at the refrigerator when he heard the knock at the door. He was just going to ignore it; they weren’t expecting company - if it was Mycroft he could just go and sod right off - and was about to head back to the bedroom when he heard the voice from the other side of the door.

‘John, you said you’d answer and I’ve called back and you aren’t picking up again, so you’ve really left me no choice by coming here. You said it was urgent that we talk soon, please, open the door. I know you’re in there. Mrs. Hudson said the two of you have been in all day. Please, just open the door.’

Sherlock froze as his mind rapidly tried to determine who was at the door.  
_Female, familiar with John - has his number and he has called her recently, knows mrs Hudson…_

_ Mary. _

Sherlock’s eyes darted to the bathroom door. The shower was still running - John mustn’t have heard her. Yet. 

The woman - Mary - was knocking again and sounding more and more impatient. Sherlock needed to do something and quickly. He looked down to himself and rushed inside the bedroom to grab one of his dressing gowns. Sherlock covered himself up, even going as far as tying the robe around his middle so his chest was covered, before moving to door to open it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; we feed on your comments and kudos!


	29. Chapter 29

Mary was... not what Sherlock had expected. 

 

Smaller than John, short blonde - dyed - hair and bright blue eyes. Intelligent. And irritated. Though she seemed a bit taken aback when she saw Sherlock. Her mouth opened to say something, but she seemed to change her mind. Mary took a deep breath through her nose and nodded. 

 

'You must be Sherlock,' she noted, not unkindly and Sherlock found himself nodding in response. 

'Mary.'

Something in her eyes flashed. 'Oh, so he has told you about me.'

'Of course, he - '

'Is John here?'

Her tone had hardened and Sherlock found himself at a loss for what to do. Technically, John had cheated on her. With him. Should he let her inside? Should he let her wait for John? Should he - wait. What was that?

 

Sherlock's eye found the ring on Mary's hand - left hand, ring finger, three diamonds... Sherlock's brain halted. Engagement ring. John had asked her... John was engaged. Mary was to be his wife!

 

'Sherlock?'

Mary's voice broke him out of his stupor and he moved aside to let her in. 'He is... John is taking a shower.'

 

 

'Well, that explains why he didn't answer his phone. Do you mind if I come in and wait for him? I would really like to talk to him and get this over with.' Mary replied tersely, but made no move to enter the flat until being invited.

 

'Over with?' Sherlock stammered, the only bit of her statement which seemed to stick out in his mind. 

 

'Yes.' Mary paused for a moment, considering her words. 'I'm not a fool Sherlock. I know an 'our relationship is over' message when I hear it. That's what he needs to speak to me about, isn't it? In all fairness, I wish I could say I could change his mind and lure him back, but I understand.' Mary didn't bother to hide the pointed look towards Sherlock.

'Look, I know you're still recovering and not yourself. John had said enough about what happened to you. But the way he used to describe you - to be honest, I'm quite surprised you haven't bared all my secrets already.' 

 

Mary smiled and for some reason Sherlock felt like he was being mocked. 'But I guess he's right; you've changed and now he wants to stay. I can't say I blame him. I could tell how much he loved you even if he never said it out loud. He surely wouldn't admit it to me because he didn't want to scare me away, but I knew.'

 

Sherlock stood at the door, still not quite sure to make of the entire scene unfolding before him.

 

Mary could feel his uncertainty of what to do in this situation, so she made it easy for him. She brought her hands together and twisted the ring off her finger. She reached out and took his hand, placing the ring in his palm. 'You know, I get the sense you aren't as bad as he sometimes painted you, just overprotective of him and I can't say I blame you. Hell, I even understand it. You know we could have probably even been friends you and I. I always found his stories of you amusing, well the ones he would share, anyway.' Mary bit her bottom lip.

 

Could you please give this back to him?  Tell him to call me when it suits him, we can sort everything out at his convenience.' She closed his fingers over the ring so he wouldn't drop it. 

 

'And be sure to tell him there's no hard feelings.  He doesn't need to be afraid to call me. It was just bad timing really when it all comes down to it.'

 

'I didn't know.' Sherlock all but whispered as he looked down at his closed hand.

 

A surprised look came over Mary's face, then the pieces linked together in her mind.

'Oh,' she began softly. She put her hand back over his again.

 

'Really Sherlock, it had just happened. In fact, he had only asked two days before finding out you were still alive. Believe me, if we hadn't gone on that trip that weekend, he never would have asked, not after you... It was a whirlwind thing to be honest and we both got swept along. Perhaps he could have been happy with me but... well, anyway,' she trailed off, patting his hand lightly. 'Please, don't take this on yourself. I would have rather found out now than months down the line. I really should go now, I had a late break for lunch and I need to be getting back to the clinic. Do me a favour though. Take good care of him, that's all he has ever deserved.'

 

And with that, she turned and quietly slipped down the stairs and out of the building.

 

Sherlock found himself unable to move. The ring May had given him felt heavy in his palm and he wanted to do nothing more than to throw it out. Burn it and never look at it again.   
But he couldn't.   
  
Sherlock kept staring at the ring, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut.  
John had proposed to her. John had looked to that woman and had loved her enough to marry. If Mycroft hadn't called in John's help, or if Sherlock had been well enough to come back to John on his own, not requiring John's help at all, would he have come back to a different John?   
A married John?  
  
Somewhere far away, Sherlock could hear the shower stop and eventually the door opening. Sherlock knew John would see what he was holding and he could sense the other man freeze in door.   
  
'We -' Sherlock struggled to sound calm. 'We had a visitor.'

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow a long chapter!! Didn't seem right to cut it somewhere in the middle, so enjoy!

John stopped as soon as he noticed what Sherlock held in his hand. About a thousand things ran through his mind all at once - G _od what am I going to do if he decides he doesn’t want me anymore -_  but he quickly pushed that one to the far recesses of his mind. He took a deep breath and stayed where he was, considering what to say.  _Damn it, THINK and make it good because what you say or do in this moment will make or break this._

‘I’m sorry. I know it was wrong, I should have told you and I can offer you a dozen excuses of why I chose not to, but they don’t really matter. It wasn’t an easy choice, but I guess I understand now why you did what you did with the fall. And no, I know this may not measure up to that magnitude but I had a lot of things to consider - your health and mental state. Your brother was looking to me to help you. If you’d have known, you would have sent me on my way, wouldn’t you? Refused my help because I had more important things to worry about. Don't tell me I’m wrong. I knew you would so that’s why I kept it silent. Same as your brother because he knew the effect it would have on you. And yes when you doing better and you asked about her, I should have told you then, but again, the same applies.’

John moved from the door over to where Sherlock stood, taking the ring from his hand and then moved out to the kitchen. He picked up one of the old broken mugs they hadn’t fixed but meant to and dropped the ring in it and then opened the cupboard door and put it on the shelf in the back out of sight. He then returned to Sherlock’s side.

‘I know you’re hurt and mad at me, but please try and understand I was only trying to do what I thought was best.’ John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand. ‘I never intended on hurting you like this, I was just trying to take care of a mistake I made. Sherlock ever since the day we met, my life always revolved around you. Even when you were gone, for the longest time it still did, I always hoped and always dreamed that somehow you would come back to me and I guess I lost hope, if it had been two days sooner, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Look what I’m trying to tell you is that it has always been you Sherlock, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you and I was sure as hell not going to pass up my second chance with you, not now that I know you feel the same.’

 

Sherlock was still eerily silent, trying to process everything that had just occurred.

‘I don’t’ want to lose you again and I’m not going anywhere even if you tell me to leave. We will get past this and I will make it up to you.’ He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. ‘What we do now is up to you, we can talk but if you need time I understand. If you want to rest, I’ll just stay out here. I’m sorry, for all of this, but if I had to do it again I would do the exact same thing, I knew what the consequences could be so if you want time I understand. If you don’t want things to proceed between us like they were I understand that too but I’m your doctor and I’m not leaving you until you’re better. If need be, I’ll just sleep on the sofa or get a cot for the evenings so we can be on the same floor, but I won’t leave you.’

Sherlock let the words wash over him and kept his eyes focused on their joint hands. With the engagement ring out of sight, Sherlock felt like he could breathe again. John had discarded the ring, like it hadn’t mattered much. He had hid it from view like it was nothing but a trinket. If John could do that, then he could.

‘It’s fine,’ Sherlock muttered, looking up briefly to meet John’s gaze. 'We weren’t… not back then. It’s alright, John. It took me by surprise, that is all.' Sherlock pulled away from John and moved to the living room. His appetite had completely disappeared when he saw Mary and right now any thought of food made his stomach roll. He needed to distract himself.

He was fine! John would stay, he had said so himself. John was not going back to her. Not now anyway. Sherlock took a deep breath and picked up his violin to start playing. He needed to think, to focus, to clear his head. He was fine. He would be fine.

 

John was relieved at Sherlock’s reaction though he was a bit sceptical that he was handling it so well.

‘Did you want some lunch?’

‘No, I’m fine thank you.’ He replied before starting his composition, one John had never before heard, which made him wonder about his state of mind, but he decided it was best not push the issue at hand unless it was absolutely necessary.

It wasn’t until about an hour later after he had heard the composition turn angry that John had had enough. He walked over to Sherlock and took his wrist to stop him playing.

‘We’re not doing this.’ 

 

Sherlock looked at John, quirked an eyebrow trying to act innocent, as though he didn’t know what John was referring to.

John smirked, ‘Don’t look at me like that, you know exactly what I’m talking about.’ He coaxed the violin from Sherlock’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s have it then. Yell at me, do what you need but we are not letting this one go.’

'I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Sherlock replied swiftly, feeling slightly miffed that John had taken the violin away from him. At least that had been a way to clear his head. John urging them to talk about this, whatever it was that he was feeling, wasn’t helping things at all. 

'You were engaged and she ended it. If anyone should be upset or yelling, it should be you.’

John had complained - loudly - often enough before when his relationships and dates had failed. And now he barely seemed bothered by it. John was focusing more on Sherlock’s state of mind and honestly, it grated on his nerves. It wasn’t right. None of this was. 

 

‘Oh really? So this doesn't bother you at all? Me essentially lying to you? Doesn't piss you off in anyway, because I know I would be.’ John retorted, taking a step back from the man when he reached for his violin.

 

‘Nope. Can’t have it.’ John smirked and he hid the violin behind his back. ’We are going to talk about this and I don't care what it takes or how long, we are going to have this conversation.’

John finished as he continued backing away from Sherlock who was intent on catching him.

 

'It doesn't bother me!' Sherlock sneered, glaring at John for hiding his violin away from him. Damn that man. Damn him and damn his stubbornness! 

'I made an assumption and I was wrong. There is always something. Besides, I never asked. It's fine John, now stop being childish and give me back my violin.'

 

‘Really, then why does your violin composition sound like a pissed off cat? And it's my fault you made the assumption you did. You've got to be a little bit angry and you have every right to be. In fact you should be because if you weren't than I'd have to be worried and I would have to leave.’ John set the violin down on the table and took Sherlock's hands into his.

 

‘It's supposed to hurt when something like this happens.’ He looked down at Sherlock's hands in his and started rubbing circles with his thumbs, ’And if it doesn't then we shouldn't be together. I'm sorry, it was never my intention to hurt you or hide this from you. I was trying to protect you until the time was right. It was wrong of me. But we need to talk about it or else we will just keep ending up back here like this and I don't want that. I don't think you do either. so please just talk to me, or yell. I don't care. Say whatever it is you need to so that I know we are going to get through this and be ok.’

 

'I'm not angry!'

 

_Liar._

 

_SHUT. UP._

 

'I'm merely annoyed that you acted out of the assumption that I needed to be protected from my own feelings.' Sherlock spat out the last word as if it was an insult. And in a way, it was. Before John, Sherlock hadn't vulnerable like this. He had brushed away the insults and glares as best he could and shielded his heart away. John had broken down every single wall he had built by merely limping into his life. At times like this, it infuriated Sherlock. He shouldn't be rattled by this, it didn't make any sense! John had hidden something from him - so what? It shouldn't matter.

 

 _Then why does it?_  
  
'I am aware that I've required your help these past weeks and for that I am grateful. And I'm glad that we are... what we are now. But you protecting me like this is unnecessary, John. Now please, can we let this go?'

 

‘Now you know how I felt when you jumped off that damned roof!’ The words were out of John’s mouth before he could even think about what he was saying. ‘And I had no one there, Sherlock. No one! You left me for what I thought was forever and I can't even begin to tell you what that felt like. I imagine though you feel it now. Well, parts of it anyway.’

 

John's outburst startled Sherlock but to be honest, he should have seen this coming. John had kept something hidden from him - and it hurt - but the entire reason they were dealing with this now, was because Sherlock had lied himself. He had hidden himself and his plans from John, all in an effort to spare him. Weaken the bonds before completely severing them, Mycroft had called it. 

 

Not so weakened after all then. 

 

John started moving forward now towards Sherlock backing him the other way. ‘Hurt, anger, denial, betrayal, loneliness, sadness, regret and a whole bunch of other shit I won't bother mentioning.’ John had him backed against the wall, his anger getting the best of him, but the doctor in him told him to back up and give space which he did immediately. 

 

‘I wouldn't wish that in my worst enemy and what did I do? I made decisions that hurt you. So don't tell me I didn't and that you're fine.’ Sherlock tried to interject but John kept going. ‘If you and I are going to give this a try then we need to stop this. And the only way to do that is to talk this out. So yeah, we can let it go after we talk about it.’

 

Sherlock kept his eye on John as the man moved back a little, giving him space and Sherlock felt something foul rise in his chest. Yes, a lot had changed between them but before, whenever they had argued, they had shouted and yelled, refusing to back down - often resulting in John leaving the flat for 'some air'. Now, John backed away from him. As if Sherlock would be startled by  _him!_  And he had kept Mary a secret. Not - as Sherlock thought before - to protect his relationship with her, but to protect him. As if he couldn't -

 

'Fine,' Sherlock spat out. 'I'm angry. I'm angry that you hid her from me because you thought I couldn't handle it. To protect my precious feelings. You used to have no problems with that  _at all._ Bringing them here, 'round our flat, parading them to world as if to scream; 'look everyone, Sherlock and me are  _not_ shagging. I am  _not_ gay!' And I was fine then, so why wouldn't I be now? I jumped off that roof, to save your life and this is not the same.' 

Sherlock was near yelling now, moving away from the wall to crowd closer to John. The anger was burning in his chest, making him say words he never wanted to say out loud to anyone, but he couldn't stop them. 

 

‘And where else should I have gone? This was my home too! And as you said so yourself that first night at Angelo's relationships weren't your area you were married to your God damned work! So how do you think I would take it? Do you think it made me happy parading around with them when all I ever wanted was you?’

John was past the point of holding back now and he stepped forward again. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew that he should shut up now before things got worse but this felt so good, getting all the pent up frustration out. 

 

‘And do you want to know why it always pissed me off so much when you used to ruin my dates? It wasn't because I missed out on a good shag, because let me tell you they were few and far between with most of them. It pissed me off because I couldn't figure out why. I thought you didn't want me so it didn't make any sense. I couldn't figure out why it bothered you so much and in the end I even gave that up because it was too much hassle to pretend I was interested in them when all I was really trying to do was avoid thinking of you and how it could be if we were together. If I'd known then, but I didn't and I can't change that but damn it Sherlock see what all that has led to. Us standing here yelling at each other instead of enjoying a quiet afternoon to ourselves.’ He paused a moment, chest heaving trying to catch his breath and trying to calm down. 

 

‘And you know what else, it's not that I didn't think you could handle the truth it's because I was ashamed. Ashamed at myself for giving up on you and not believing in you. And if I would have just waited a few more days... Well I can't take it back and even if I could I don't think I would because at least this way I know you care where as with the rest of them you just turned your nose and stayed quiet about how you really felt.’

 

Sherlock felt the anger leave him in a rush at John's words, leaving him feeling drained. 

Ashamed. John had felt ashamed of not waiting longer. Two years believing he was dead and John still felt ashamed of not holding on longer. And all those months before that horrible day... so much time wasted because of their stubbornness. 

 

'John, I - ' Sherlock struggled for words. 'I hated them. All those women. I hated them because I - I didn't understand; I wanted you with me, only me and I was terrified of messing things up. Moriarty knew and he - ' Sherlock swallowed. It had almost been too easy for Moriarty to press there where it had hurt the most. Everything. Sherlock would do everything for John. Even dying. 

 

'I was dead to you. For two years and it was... arrogant of me to think you'd still be here when I got back. You deserved - and still deserve - so much better. I have no right to be angry with you.'

 

John's heart broke. The fact that Sherlock didn't think he deserved John, well that was just plain nonsense, but something he wasn't going to argue over him with. Instead John intended to show him. Show him just how much he deserved it, how much they deserved each other.

John reached out and pulled Sherlock into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

 

He really tried not to chuckle, none of this was funny, but it struck him as he was formulating his reply how completely ironic this whole situation was between them - even now after two years apart things like this still happened, miscommunication. If anything would be their downfall it would be that, their failure to really talk and hear the other.

 

Sherlock looked up at John now, he had buried his head in John's chest when John had pulled together, ‘I fail to see the humour in all of this.’

 

John chuckled a bit more, ‘I'm not really laughing, I mean not in the way that you think. Come, let's sit down.’

John led them over to the couch. ’It's just we could avoid all of this if we just stop. Stop with the pretences, stop with thinking we know what each other thinks or what's best for them. We are both guilty of the exact same thing so please don't sit there and tell me how you don't deserve me because I could very well counter and say the same, that from day one I have never deserved you. I mean there is really no reason someone like you could have ever needed an old, invalided army doctor to help you out on cases. Sherlock, you have never needed me, but I have always needed you. I needed you to make my world right again and that's exactly what you did back then and still do now. So let's just file this away as a lesson we can learn from and try not to repeat in the future.’

John paused and took a breath.

‘I know, not an easy thing to ask because we are both stubborn and set in our ways, but I do think it's worth a try. Sherlock, I can't and won't imagine my life without you, for better or worse. All I know is that my life is nothing without you by my side.’

 

'Don't be an idiot, John,' Sherlock huffed, without any heat. 'You saved my life in more ways than one from the moment we met each other. The time away from you was...'

Sherlock took a deep breath. That was over now. 

'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'Again, I'm sorry for leaving you.'

 

Sherlock stayed close to John, wrapping his arm tentatively around the other man's middle to keep him there. 

 

‘And I'm sorry for hurting you, I think that makes us about even.’ John all but whispered, wanting so much to put this conversation behind them and not run in circles over it.

 

John followed suit and wrapped his arms around Sherlock and they both sat there quietly for the next few moments absorbing everything that had just transpired between them. When John felt Sherlock's breathing slow, he moved his hands up his back and sat forward, ‘Come on, we are not napping on the couch again, especially not when we have your lovely huge bed to lounge about on.’

 

Sherlock pushed back against him, buried his head, ‘I'm too tired to move.’

 

John pushed them both forward and up from the couch, ‘There we are, not too tired to stand.’ John grinned and took Sherlock's hands in his and led him back to the bedroom.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but we'll make it up to you; PROMISE

'I can’t remember the last time I spent so much time in bed,’ Sherlock muttered when he and John sank down on the soft mattress. 

They moved to each other without hesitation, wrapping their arms around each other and Sherlock sighed contentedly. 

‘Well your body and mind is still recovering from everything, so yes it will require more rest than normal and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.’

Sherlock muttered something under his breath that John couldn’t quite catch as he let sleep drag him under.

 

As they lie there, John ran over everything in his head again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he sorted this through and heard the words himself from Mary. He carefully extricated himself from under Sherlock and made his way to the loo. After he stood in the doorway another ten minutes watching the detective sleep peacefully. He knew he had a window of opportunity here, he just wondered if he should take it. 

He glanced at the clock. She would just be finishing up now, certainly she could spare a few moments now. He exited the room and shut the door quietly and walked out to the kitchen. He scooped his phone up from the table and sighed before turning it on. This would either work out for the better or go horribly wrong. He quickly found her number and pressed send. He wanted this over with now. 

Mary glanced at her phone. She was rather surprised to see that it was John calling. 

_‘Good evening John. I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.’_

‘Well, you know me. I don’t like to let things linger.’

She grinned, for the most part that was true but she wasn’t going to have that discussion now.  _’Look if you’re calling to….’_

He couldn’t help but interrupt, he wanted this over before Sherlock woke since he was taking a risk. ‘Look, I just wanted to apologise for everything. I know things haven’t been easy this past month and I guess I should have been more honest and open about this whole thing from the start of it. I just wanted to say I’m sorry that it hurt you and that it ended up this way. But you should have waited for me. We should have done this face to face and not through another person or over the phone.’

She sighed,  _’John, don’t be silly. I knew this had the potential of happening when you disappeared on the exact same day when Sherlock came back. I’m not surprised. I’ve always known how you felt about him. Anyone with two eyes saw it. I am disappointed yes but I can’t ask you to stay with me when I know your heart truly lies elsewhere, that would be selfish. I’ll admit I was angry at first but as the days passed, I began to see that even if you did by some wild chance choose me over him that it wouldn’t last. I’d still always be second and you wouldn’t do it intentionally, that’s just the way it is when you’re around him. There is only him and everything else is secondary, and that’s what love is. So please, let’s just cut our losses and move on instead of dwelling on it.’_

‘Mary, I don’t know what to say.’

_‘Well you can thank me for starters and you can promise me you won’t keep thinking about this. That’s not a good way to start off your relationship with him. Now, if I know you, you’re sneaking this phone call in because you couldn’t let go of it so John, know that I will be fine and hold no ill will towards you. As I told him, we can arrange for you to pick up your things at a later date. Now I have made plans to go out with the girls this evening for dinner so I must be going. Thank you for calling to check on me but I’ll be ok.’_

‘Thank you Mary, for everything.’

_‘You’re welcome John. Take care.’_

‘You too,’ he said before ending the call. He shut his phone off and put it back on the table. 

 

John sighed. It was really OK. He could put his mind at ease now. He walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water and made his way back to their room. 

When he entered, Sherlock was still in the same spot he had left him. He smiled and let out a small sigh of relief. It was worth the risk and now he could rest easy. He crawled back into bed and quietly worked his way back to Sherlock’s side. He carefully resumed the position they were in before he snuck out to make the call. Sherlock mumbled something again. John smiled and kissed his forehead. 

‘Shh it’s OK.’

 

Sherlock hummed wordlessly and curled closer to John, winding his arms around him tighter before drifting off again. 

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 CHAPTERS TODAY!!!!

 

 

They didn't discuss her. John didn't bring her up the next day and Sherlock felt no need to bring Mary up himself. It didn't matter, Sherlock told himself. Not anymore. John was here, in Baker Street with him, and if the rest of John's stuff magically appeared at their front door a couple of days later, neither of them brought it up. It was good like this. Better even, than Sherlock had ever dared hope and with each passing day, Sherlock felt himself heal. 

 

 

 

The wounds on his back had closed, although the skin was still raw and painful at times. But at least Sherlock no longer had to suffer from the itching of the bandages and John's fretting about them. And slowly, very slowly, Sherlock and John left the safety of Baker Street together. 

 

Sherlock had been hesitant to go outside again after what happened in the park, but the walls  had been closing in around him. He needed to smell London's air again. But they were careful this time. They went outside for small periods of time and never far away from their flat. And it worked. With time, Sherlock's confidence returned to him, both inside the flat and out. 

 

 

 

As for them, very little changed. They slept in the same bed, clinging to each other as if one of them might disappear. Touches were more freely given to the point where Sherlock, without warning, dropped himself in John's lap and knocking the book from John's hand, demanded attention. Sherlock found himself craving John's touch - both hands and mouths - and John seemed more than happy to indulge him. 

 

Time became irrelevant now that things were falling into place at Baker Street. With the Mary debacle behind them, life at Baker Street was more open and carefree, nothing hung in the air between them anymore and  Sherlock made leaps and bounds in his recovery. 

 

So it wasn't surprising to John the morning Sherlock decided to drop his entire body into the doctor's lap, seeking out attention like a starved cat.  

'Mmm,' John hummed through their kiss as Sherlock rearranged his limbs to now straddle the good doctor. 'What do I owe this pleasure to?' John whispered as the pulled apart, his hands running up Sherlock's back, urging his body closer as Sherlock rested his forehead on John's. Their eyes locked and time seemingly stood still. 

 

Sherlock simply smiled and leaned forward, tracing John's lips with his tongue. A small whimper escaped John's mouth, his fingers tensing, wanting to dig into Sherlock's but his brain kicking in at the last moment to remind him of Sherlock's injuries. John let his hands drop to Sherlock's waist, his grip tightening there as he pulled the detectives body closer. 

 

They were both still getting used to this new dynamic in their relationship and had kept things light between them until now. John could feel the urgency coursing through Sherlock's body, his own responding likewise, but he was still mindful of Sherlock's recovery. They needn't push things too fast and john didn't want to risk ruining what they had finally found in each other, so he let Sherlock take the lead. 

 

 

Sherlock cradled John's head carefully, deepening the kiss and pressing himself as close to John's body as possible. 

 

 

 

It was terrifying, the way his body demanded to be touched and kissed by John now that he knew how it felt like. It would overwhelm him at times. When John was making their tea, licking his lips in concentration as he stirred in mugs. Or the way the light caught his hair while he was reading, like it had done mere moments ago. 

Now that Sherlock was aware of how John's lips felt on his own, any form of restraint he might had used in the past, no longer seemed to work. And it didn't have to anymore. He was allowed!

 

Sherlock smiled against John's lips, stroking his thumbs against John's cheekbones. 

 

 

John brought his hands up to cover Sherlock's with his own, giving them a light squeeze. He then brought one of Sherlock's hands to his lips and began to lightly pepper it with kisses, starting with each fingertip and ending with the palm. He then took his other hand and gave it the same treatment, his eyes never breaking contact with Sherlock's. He was mesmerized by those pale irises. How many nights since meeting Sherlock had he dreamt of a scenario such as this? Nearly every single night, even those years that Sherlock was gone. He let his eyes fall shut, a smile painting his lips. God what a feeling it was to look back at that time now and know that Sherlock wasn't really dead, that what he had done was for John. John was still amazed, he would have never thought that the man sitting in his lap would have ever had those kind of feelings for him. This same exquisite being had shot him down that first night so John had bottled it up and kept at it even when he saw glimmers of hope. He always thought those glimmers had been his imagination or his own desire for things to be different, but no, they had been signs, little hints from Sherlock. If only John had taken a chance then, he briefly wondered how things might have been different, but then he realised something. It would have never worked. Sure maybe things would have been different, but they would have grown wary of each other, they hadn't known how to put complete trust in each other and now they did. John smiled as he leaned up to capture Sherlock's lips again. He brought his hands up to cup his face.

‘God I love you so much.’ He murmured against Sherlock's lips. 

 

Something unravelled in Sherlock's chest when he heard the words fall from John's lips again and he wondered if it would ever change. Would those words ever become normal, a way of greeting each other or saying goodbye. It seemed unimaginable but he wanted to hear them every day none the less. 

 

'I love you too, John,' Sherlock responded, moving his lips to John's jawline, pressing kisses along the way until he reached the sensitive skin behind John's ear. 

 

Sherlock's gaze shifted as he pressed kisses along John's neck and John left his head fall back and to the side, baring more of his skin for Sherlock's perusal. As far as he was concerned, they needn't leave the confines of 221B again, but realistically, he knew it wouldn't always be like this so he decided they should make the most of it now. He had been pleased with Sherlock's progress and wanted to make sure this area of their lives progressed as smoothly as possible as well. He knew Sherlock wouldn't address it and just offer to blindly give John what he thought John wanted so John figured now was as good a time as any to touch upon the topic while keeping it light hearted.

 

‘God I love your lips.’ He hummed, his hands currently resting at Sherlock's hips. He pulled the up along his sides and let his fingers run through Sherlock's curls, gripping them lightly and pulling just a bit to expose Sherlock's neck so he could nip at it. ’I love your soft skin even more.’ He continued until he came to Sherlock's lips, licking them and pressing a gentle kiss there. He cupped Sherlock's cheeks again and brought their eyes together. ’And I want you to know that we do not need to rush into anything. I want you to take your time and only do what you're comfortable with. There is no rush and I have no expectations as to how fast things move between us. So promise me that you will listen to your body if it's telling you to slow down. I won't be upset and if it means we need to stop, that's perfectly fine. It won't upset me and it won't make me think any less of you. I want things to bee perfect for you. Promise me that Sherlock.’ he finished in a low, heated whisper. God, his mind was racing now, hoping he had made his point without scaring or hurting or upsetting Sherlock. Their eyes still held each other's gaze and John couldn't help but lean up into Sherlock's personal space again and really kiss him again.

 

Their lips at first barely touching, and John's fingers tracing down Sherlock's cheek then his neck, to his chest were he grabbed a handful of his shirt and bunched it together as he pulled his detective closer, deepening the kiss. His free hand, snaking behind Sherlock's neck as he turned his head slightly and licking at the seam of Sherlock's lips.

 

‘Please promise me. I don't ever want to hurt you.’ he murmured as Sherlock parted his lips, granting John's tongue entrance. John's hand now sliding up the back of Sherlock's neck to card through his hair and bringing him closer.

 

Sherlock pulled back a little. Not far enough to completely pull away from John's hands, but enough for Sherlock to be able to look John in the eye. Normally he would have lashed out, show John that he was more than capable to make his own decision and that he knew the limits of his own body. And once, he would have been right. 

 

But the incident at the park had made him very aware of his own limitations now. He wasn't the same man he was before he left and he was more vulnerable than he ever dared to imagine. 

John was a doctor, a carer, and John loved him. Sherlock had lied to him for long enough. He had made him grieve and worry and so many years had been wasted. Sherlock didn't dare risk it. If John required this of him, then he would try.

 

Sherlock took a deep breath, before nodding wordlessly. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to John's and for a moment they were content with breathing each other's air. 

John smiled, happy at Sherlock's response. In the old days, he would have taken it as Sherlock merely agreeing with him to shut him up, but now he knew better. They may have gotten off to somewhat of a rocky start but they were both at fault and they had learned from it. John knew that Sherlock would try as best he could just as Sherlock knew John meant everything he said. It didn't mean John would be less vigilant, but he would give Sherlock a wider platitude than normal.

 

They sat together like this and the moments stretched out, neither wanting to move. John brushed his fingers against Sherlock's cheeks. He was rather surprised the detective was content to sit here this long perfectly content. He placed a soft kiss on his lips.

 

‘Is there anything special you wanted to do today?’

 

'I don't know,' Sherlock admitted.

He didn't know. Part of him wanted to leave the flat, try again and actually leave the street for once. But there was one part - one very large and currently winning part - that seemed perfectly content to stay in John's lap, kissing and touching.

 

Apart the pyjamas John wore, Sherlock hadn't seen - or touched - John in anything other than his usual clothing. On occasion a hand would drift in their sleep and they would wake up, with Sherlock's hands lying gently on John's belly. And the kisses. Of course there were the kisses. Something warm and gentle, unhurried, like now. Sometimes more heated with tongues, but it never moved past that.   
And perhaps Sherlock  _did_ know what he wanted to do.

 

John could tell from Sherlock's answer that they were at a pivotal moment between them, when things could quite possibly progress beyond touching and kissing, to something a bit more and he knew he would be fine with anyway the next few moments played out. 

 

When their lips met this time, it was with a renewed sense of urgency and John was quite happy to follow where Sherlock was leading him. Their lips slid together effortlessly and parted, tongues exploring and hands starting to roam to places that hadn't yet been explored. John's fingers gently skimmed down Sherlock's back causing the detective to shiver and hum and didn't stop when they reached his waist as they normally did. this time they continued their journey down coming to rest on Sherlock's plush arse. John smiled as Sherlock leaned even more into the kiss, apparently pleased with this turn of events.

 

Sherlock's hips rolled when he felt John's hands settle on his arse. Ah  _oh God, that feels good!_

It had been years since Sherlock had done this, before the drugs had taken over, before the Work had taken its place. But now, with John's hands on him, Sherlock wanted more.

 

Their kiss grew frantic, needing. Sherlock pressed himself as close to John as possible, grinding his hips. He felt John's fingers tighten and Sherlock hands - who had settled on John's face when their kiss began - slid down, searching for a way to reach more skin.

 

A moan escaped John's lips as Sherlock's hands skimmed down his chest. As he opened his eyes, he couldn't quite believe the sight Sherlock made sitting on top of him. his curls were in disarray from John's fingers carding through them and his lips were this gorgeous shade of red and swollen from their kissing. He whimpered as Sherlock sat back and grabbed the hem of his shirt and started tugging at it, mumbling about how over rated clothing was and that they really needed to maybe move this to the bedroom where they could stretch out, the chair was a bit confining and blocked Sherlock's access to John's body.

 

John chuckled, leaning forward to nip at Sherlock's neck, his hands moving up his lower back again to keep him in place without falling off his lap.

 

‘I'd be happy to move this to the bedroom if that's what you'd like but I can't move until you do.’ he stated, as he began to tug at the dressing gown that covered the majority of Sherlock's body.

 

Sherlock was up before John properly managed to finish his sentence and he let his dressing gown fall off his shoulders. 

With an impatience John hadn't seen for years, he rushed to the bedroom.

 

'Come on then!' Sherlock called over his shoulder.

 

But he froze when he entered the bedroom and began tugging at own shirt. 

 

Sherlock had never been too conscious of his own body. Yes, he knew he had been tall and too thin in his youth, all elbows and knees. But that had changed. He knew people looked at him but it had never mattered as much to him as it did now. 

Ridiculous, Sherlock chastised himself. John had seen the scars. He had helped heal them in the first place. But that was just it. 

John had only ever seen his body as a doctor, not as a... lover. 

 

He took a deep breath, turning when he heard John following him to the bedroom. 

 

Oh he looked absolutely stunning. Lips swollen, hair askew, broad shoulders and his hands perfectly steady. His John. 

Sherlock stared, his own movements forgotten. 

 

John stopped, leaving two footsteps between them. He let his eyes scan the length of Sherlock's body, taking him in from head to toe. He stepped forward tentatively closing the space between them and reached out for his waist. He ran his fingers up Sherlock's side, then up his neck and cupped his cheek. He could hear the thoughts running through Sherlock's mind now. He had seen the hesitation as he entered the bed room and he understood. What he needed to do now was make it clear to Sherlock that it didn't matter.

 

He brushed his thumb across Sherlock's cheek and then trailed his hand down the front of Sherlock's chest until his fingers came to toy with the hem of his shirt. His other hand joined and he gently pulled the shirt up and over Sherlock's head with Sherlock's help. Sherlock's arms came to rest at his sides. John continued to run his fingers over Sherlock's chest, lightly skimming his fingers over all the new skin that had just become available to him.

‘Gorgeous,’ He whispered as he pulled his detective close and began to map out the new skin with his lips.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THE NEW TAGS AND RATING CHANGE: OUR BOYS ARE GOING TO HAVE SOME FUN TOGETHER.
> 
> If you don't want smut, you can skip this chapter easily.

Sherlock let out a sigh when he felt John's fingers trace the lines of his body. His fingers first and his lips after. 

When John's fingers had finished mapping out his front, they moved to his back slowly. Sherlock bit his lip. 

 

His heart was pounding when he felt the tips of John's fingers caress a scar. It was alright, he told himself and for once, Sherlock actually believed himself. 

It was alright. 

 

Sherlock pulled John back up again, bringing their mouths together before pulling on John's shirt. 

 

John smirked when Sherlock's impatience ran out and ended with Sherlock pulling their lips together again. He hadn't been finished with his attentions but he knew not to push, there would be other times when they could just explore each other's bodies to their contentment. 

 

When Sherlock removed his shirt and began his exploration, John didn't blanch or try to hide away when Sherlock spent extra time at his shoulder, first tracing the entrance wound and then mapping each and every line that snarled the back of his shoulder from its exit. He didn't feel the normal trepidation he usually did because this was different. This wasn't pity for being struck down during a war and sent home, this was something altogether different. This was a silent reverence. This was Sherlock's way of praising the very thing that brought John to him. If that bullet would have missed John and found its mark on another, they would never have met and that was an unacceptable thought. So John didn't rush Sherlock's fingers or lips, he just let himself bask in the glory of Sherlock's attentions. 

 

While their fingers danced over each other's bodies and their lips met over and over again, they moved closer towards the bed and it was until Sherlock's knees hit the edge of it before they realised they had been moving at all. 

Sherlock smiled tentatively, ignoring nervous feelings in his gut. 

 

He had no reason to be nervous. This wasn't his first time - although it had been years! - and this was John.  _His_ John. 

 

Sherlock sat down and moved backwards on the bed, holding John's hand so he could drag him with him. They finally settled down with John straddling Sherlock's hips and their hands intertwined next to Sherlock's head. For a moment they only looked at each other. Sherlock could feel John's breath on his face and if he concentrated, he could feel the beating of John's heart through his fingers. Up close like this, Sherlock could see all the different colours of John's eyes. He could count the wrinkles on his face. He could try and figure out what had caused that faint little scar on his cheek. 

 

For a brief moment, John forgot how they had ended up in this position, but then his brain had caught up with him. If he was asked later, he would be able to recall every moment and every touch of that morning, though he would never share it with another soul. This was something that belonged to only them.  
  
After what felt like ages staring into the depths of Sherlock's eyes, John leaned forward and began to nuzzle at the crook of Sherlock's neck. There was no longer a sense of urgency, the need to rush - they had the rest of their lives to enjoy each other and he planned to enjoy every single second of it. 

 

He began with soft kisses along Sherlock's pulse point and down his neck, their fingers still entwined. He travelled as far down Sherlock's chest as he could without breaking the connection of their fingers, spending ample time kissing every inch of skin within his reach before focussing on Sherlock's nipples. The first brush of his lips over the pebbled skin caused Sherlock to moan and arch his back. It was intoxicating, the sounds that John could pull from Sherlock. He grinned as he licked his way back up to Sherlock's lips. 

Sherlock couldn't get enough of John's lips on his skin. John's weight and hands grounded him, pinning him down to the bed. But he could move - Sherlock could feel it. John was careful to keep some of the weight of him as his lips continued to caress his skin. Sherlock could flip them over easily if he wanted to. 

 

Something swelled in the vicinity of Sherlock's heart. His John. So careful. Oh sweet God,  _that mouth!_

 

Sherlock moaned when John found a particular sensitive spot on his neck. He titled his head backwards, giving John more room, but he kept his own hands firmly on John's hips, keeping him in place as Sherlock's own hips started to buck to alleviate the tension. 

 

It was hard to stay aware of his own movements when Sherlock began thrusting his hips upwards searching for friction, but he would for Sherlock's sake. It wasn't that John was concerned with were this moment would eventually end, he only wanted to make sure he was mindful not to crowd or push Sherlock beyond his limits.

 

John grinned against the supple skin of Sherlock's throat as the man beneath him moaned and arched his back further. He began rocking his hips, finally bringing their still clothed erections in contact with one another and the sound that escaped both of them was something neither of them would soon forget. He kept his movements slow and precise, letting each sensation building off the other. He brought their lips together once again, his forearms now resting on the bed, caging Sherlock's head and allowing him to card his fingers through those luscious locks. Another smile forming on his lips as hooked his leg around Sherlock's and rolled them, allowing Sherlock to take the lead.

 

With John now spread out underneath him, Sherlock wasted no time. He moved down a little, allowing himself to trace the lines of John's neck with his mouth. He marvelled at the groans and pants John's uttered. It was because of him, Sherlock thought to himself as he made his way down to trace the lines of John's scar. He was doing this to John. He had imaged this too many times to count in the years he had been away and now... oh God and now he could finally  _know!_  Sherlock could explore him, map out every line and freckle on John's skin. And it was absolutely glorious. 

 

John was moving against him now. Moving his hips in search of desperately needed friction. 

Sherlock looked down. 

John still wore his trousers and he could see bulge on John's erection straining against the fabric. Sherlock moved his hand down, tracing and palming John with his long fingers. 

 

The moment Sherlock's hand began working his erection even though it was through a layer of clothing, John's mind went completely blank except for Sherlock. There was nothing else in the world except the two of them at this very a moment and it couldn't be more perfect.

 

‘Oh God Sherlock,’ John moaned as his hips thrust upwards into Sherlock's grip. He had no control over any of his movements at the moment and the only thing racing through his brain was more. More Sherlock. His hand reached up and grasped the arm that was now teasing him and the other snaked around the back of his neck and pulled him close so he could nip and lick at those damnable plush lips. Christ if he survived this he was going to spend the rest of his days catering to any whim Sherlock could possibly ever have, just so long as they were together. As Sherlock's movements fell into a rhythm John found himself moving his hand up Sherlock's arm to cup his cheek. Their eyes met and the world ceased moving for a moment as everything they've ever felt for each other passed between them in that one look. Words couldn't even begin to describe the feelings that surged through John at that exact moment and he knew Sherlock was experiencing the same. This was how it should have always been between them. He knew at that moment, nothing would ever keep them apart ever again. Death had tried and it failed.

 

Sherlock didn't stop.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. The feeling of John underneath his hand, on his lips, the sounds that escaped them - it was more addictive than the cocaine had ever been. 

This was John. And he would never be able to let go again. And he wouldn't have to. 

 

Sherlock's hand kept pressing, palming and rubbing John's erection through his trousers and pants as their mouth descended on each other, over and over again. Sherlock felt teeth, he could taste John on his tongue even as he pulled away for air and still it was not enough. 

 

He moaned and moved his hand to struggle with John’s belt. Sherlock needed to see him. He needed to touch him. Properly. He needed to feel the weight and warmth of John in his own hand. 

When the belt and button finally gave way, Sherlock wasted no time. 

 

His fingers yanked down the fabric that separated them, just far down enough so Sherlock could wrap his fingers around John. 

 

John was completely lost to Sherlock's ministrations. He wanted so much to reach out and touch Sherlock - to pleasure him, but he didn't want to distract the detective. He was also fairly positive he wouldn't be able to do much of anything until Sherlock was through with him so he just let himself drift and enjoy Sherlock's touch. In fact, it was the only thing he could focus on. Sherlock's long, elegant fingers wrapped around his girth, slowly stroking him. His hips, chasing the steady grip of Sherlock's hand every time he pulled back.

 

His hand fell back to Sherlock's upper arm, clutching it, as he arched his back off the mattress into Sherlock's touch. He found himself unable to stay quiet. His pleas gaining in volume as Sherlock worked him towards completion. ’Please Sherlock,’ He begged, the pleasure coiling in his lower abdomen. He pulled Sherlock to him once again. He needed to feel and taste his lips. Needed him close so Sherlock would be able to hear every little murmur that fell from his lips now, ‘Oh God, right there. Just like that. Oh how I've always needed you. Please Sherlock... please.’

 

It could hardly be called a kiss. Their lips brushed against each other but John was too far gone to coordinate his movements. He kept whispering, begging - and oh dear God, Sherlock would never ever forget it - as Sherlock's hand kept moving, faster, tighter, more, more, more... 

 

Sherlock kept his eyes open, desperate not to miss one second of John's face. It was remarkable. The way his brow was pinched, his mouth parted with swollen lips. A blush adorned his cheeks. Sherlock smiled, lowering his lips to the shell of John's ear to trace the shape of it with his tongue. 

John was tense. So close; Sherlock could feel it. John's erection had swelled in his hand and Sherlock could almost feel the tension radiating from John's body. And at that moment, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to see it all. 

 

'John,' Sherlock groaned softly in John's ear. 'Let go. Please. Let me see...'

 

John had been skating the edge of his orgasm far too long to deny Sherlock what he asked for. Sherlock's deep timbre alone would have tipped him over the edge, but when he asked John to let go for him, that was John needed. His hips bucked several more times into Sherlock's tightened grip, skin dragging over the head, causing the most delicious added bit of friction. Sherlock tightened his grip and the next thing he knew, he was moaning as he began pulsing into Sherlock's hand. His eyes fell shut as his back came up off the mattress and his body stilled as Sherlock continued to work him through each wave.

Sherlock watched. He couldn't - and didn't want to - do anything else. The way John's muscles tensed and released, the feeling of John's erection pulsing in his hand. The way John moaned as Sherlock continued to stroke, forcing every last bit of pleasure out of John's body. Sherlock kissed John's brow and moved his hand away from him when John began to squirm a little. 

 

'Stunning,' he muttered. 

Sherlock's own erection was straining against the fabric of his trousers, but he hardly paid any attention to it. John was here, in his arms, still slow and warm from his orgasm and Sherlock wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible. 

 

It was like nothing he had ever experienced before and it took him several long moments and deep breaths to come back to his senses. 

 

He smiled, pulling Sherlock close, trailing his lips over his cheek before kissing him slowly. When they broke for air, John grinned, stealing a quick kiss before finding his voice. ‘That was incredible.’ 

 

He stretched and shifted from his back to his side, he wanted to enjoy the closeness between them. He traced his fingers over Sherlock’s lips, let them skim down his neck and chest. He chuckled softly as Sherlock shivered as his hand travelled further down his torso to the hem of his pyjama bottoms then back up his chest. 

 

His movements were slow and calculated, drawn out in such a way to convey his intentions to Sherlock - that they could continue forward if he like or they could just lie here and enjoy each other's company, whatever Sherlock preferred. 

 

With each passing second - and with every movement of John's hand on his skin - Sherlock felt his arousal becoming more difficult to ignore. 

He palmed himself through the fabric and when John traced the shape of his nipple with his thumb, Sherlock couldn't keep still anymore. 

 

'Lie back,' Sherlock breathed out on a moan. 

As John moved backwards to lean against the headboard, Sherlock shimmied out of his pyjama bottoms and pants, baring himself to John’s eye. 

For a second they both stared. 

Sherlock could guess how he looked; his skin felt heated, his hair would be ruffled, lips glistening and swollen... John looked just as delectable and Sherlock felt. 

 

But there was something more in John's eyes than just desire. Something tentative and careful. Something fragile in a way that made Sherlock ache because he knew it was for him. 

 

Love. 

 

Sherlock shivered under the weight of it before he moved. A kiss - Sherlock on his knees between John's parted legs - and then he turned, settling his back against John's chest, feeling his heartbeat against his own. 

 

John continued to follow Sherlock's instructions even though what he wanted to do at this moment was pleasure Sherlock anyway possible. That's when it occurred to him that following Sherlock's lead would accomplish just that.

 

The look between them before Sherlock kissed him once again, seemed to last forever. It was amazing all that could pass between them without having to utter a single word, it was unlike anything John had ever experience before. Sure there was desire and lust present in that gaze, but even beyond that, there was complete devotion to one another. He could feel it to his core, there was no length he wouldn't go to for this man laid out before him and he intended on showing him just that.

 

‘You are so gorgeous,’ John whispered as he ran his fingers lightly up the outsides of Sherlock's arms. He scooted himself down a bit, so his mouth rested right at the shell of Sherlock's ear. He nipped lightly at the lobe before inhaling again and murmuring in a slow, husky voice. ’so incredibly exquisite. Look at you. Flushed from your cheeks to your toes and everywhere in between. Oh the things I could do to you, but that's not what you want, is it?’ John questioned as he planted a kiss behind the soft patch of skin at his ear before drawing in a bit and lightly sucking on his pulse point. His fingers, now skimming down the sides of Sherlock's torso, slowly tracing each and every feature. ‘There's something special you want to do, isn't there?’

 

Sherlock tilted his head, baring his neck to John's lips. His own hands travelled down his body, carefully avoiding the source of the tightness in his groin. For now, Sherlock wanted to do nothing than to focus on John.

 

John, who was strong behind him, touching him in reverence and speaking to him, urging him on. 

He had thought he had omitted every timbre of John's voice to his mind palace already. His barely contained laughter, the coldness of his anger, the gritty sound of his annoyance. The warmth of his compliments. But this... this was so much better, so much more. 

 

Sherlock wrapped his hand around him when John's lips brushed his ear again. 

'Keep talking, John,' Sherlock gasped. 'Tell me how you - I'll show you. Only you.'

 

It was though John had found himself in a dream, but this, this was so much sweeter. Better than anything he could have ever or already dreamed. His eyes slid shut and he inhaled Sherlock's scent, trying to ground himself and focus on Sherlock now. Though he wouldn't be the one providing the touch, he would be responsible for Sherlock's pleasure. He was in awe of the amount of trust in him Sherlock was placing in his hands. He knew this was not a light gesture on his lover's part and he intended to make this something his detective would not soon forget. A shiver ran through him and he grinned wickedly. Oh yes, this was so much better than anything he could ever imagine.

 

He mouthed over the smooth skin of Sherlock's neck one last time before returning to his ear to deliver his instructions. He let his voice drop another octave as he began to guide Sherlock's movements with words. ’Start by sucking on your fingertips. Show me how delightfully sinful that clever mouth and tongue of yours can be.’ He paused and inhaled deeply before continuing. ’Then once you have them nice and wet, I want you to slowly tease your nipples. I want to see them respond to your touch, harden into perfect little peaks. I want to hear you gasp as you pinch them. Want to feel you squirm and arch your back from your own touch. I want you to imagine it's me whose touching you. Can you do that for me? Hmmm? I want to see you Sherlock.’

 

Sherlock shivered and moaned when he heard what John asked of him. But he did it.

With one hand alternating between palming himself and stroking, he moved the other hand up to his mouth to suck his fingers. 

 

He didn't close his mouth - he wanted John to see the movements of his tongue against his fingers - as he suckled and licked them. 

 

When they were wet enough, he shifted his hand and pinched his nipples. 

 

Sherlock never paid much attention to them when he satisfied himself - in fact, he hardly indulged in teasing - but with John whispering encouragements in his ear, it felt so much better than he dared dream. 

 

'John!' Sherlock gasped when John lowered his head far enough for his breath to reach his sensitive nipples. 

His hand tightened around himself, involuntarily. The sight of John reaching his orgasm earlier had already left him wanting and now Sherlock knew it wouldn't be long before he reached his own.

 

John smiled at Sherlock's eagerness to please but he tsk’ed at him and gently grasped his wrist, slowing Sherlock's strokes. ’Not just yet love. I want you to enjoy this, I don't want it to be over in the blink of an eye.’ He lessened his grip as he felt Sherlock's arm relax, ‘There we go.: He allowed Sherlock to give himself several more strokes before he reached for his hand again and brought it to his own mouth, letting his breath fall hot and heavy on Sherlock's open palm. He began with long, broad licks up Sherlock's palm, then made sure to even coat each finger with saliva before licking his palm one last time. He returned Sherlock's hand to throbbing erection. ’Now wrap your hand around yourself firmly and start off with slow, long pulls. Yes, just like that.’ John's eyes grew wide as he marvelled over how well Sherlock followed each and everything that was asked of him.

 

Sherlock had his eyes closed, completely enraptured by what he was feeling. 

 

 _Slow_ , he kept telling himself. _Slow and just - oh fuck!_

 

Sherlock's eyes flew open when his thumb slid over the head. Due to his slow ministrations and lack of sensation before the touch of his own hand, every touch seemed to have multiplied in strength. 

Even as it was his own hand that was touching, it felt... different. Foreign. 

 

And so good.

 

'John, please... I want to - oh God, John!' 

 

John let his hand fall to Sherlock's stomach. He was enraptured by each movement of Sherlock's hand and brought back to the moment when Sherlock cried out to him. He bent his fingers, careful not to pull at Sherlock's stomach, but moving enough to cause Sherlock to arch against his fingertips again.

 

‘Oh God Sherlock.’ he let out in a raspy breath. ’Do that again with your thumb. That's it. Let yourself go.’ He let his other hand drop to Sherlock's inner thigh and as Sherlock brushed his thumb over the tip of his head again, John let his fingers brush over Sherlock's balls. The result was immediate. Sherlock arched his back and keened. It was the most gorgeous thing John had ever seen. ’That's it Sherlock. Come for me.’

 

Even if John hadn't told him to let go, it was already too late. With John's unexpected touch came the tightening of his groin. His legs trembled as his hips began moving, pushing in the circle of his own hand. He was lost. Completely and utterly lost.

 

Sherlock was now, more than ever, aware of John behind him, leaving kisses all over his face. Sherlock gasped for air, muttering John's name as if in prayer while his orgasm surged through him, leaving him breathless and heavy in John's arms. 

 

The entire sequence of events was intense. From the way Sherlock's body moved to the noises he made, John was in complete awe. He kept his hand flat against Sherlock's stomach, feeling each contraction of muscle as he rode his orgasm out. He peppered Sherlock's face and neck with kiss after kiss, praises falling in between each touch of lips to skin.

 

‘Magnificent, gorgeous, beautiful....’

 

He finally came to rest at Sherlock's collar bone, watching the detective's chest rise and fall with each breath until his breathing became slow and steady again. He would be more than happy to stay like this for the next few hours, no matter how uncomfortable they might become, but he knew that in all likelihood he would soon get up to retrieve what they would need to clean themselves up but for now, he would just enjoy this moment between them.

 

‘Thank you.’ he whispered, before pressing another kiss to Sherlock's warm skin.

 

Sherlock crooked his head to catch John's gaze and raised an eyebrow. ’For?’

 

John smiled, ‘for sharing this with me.’ John could have continued on, but they both knew the magnitude of what they had just shared together. 

 

Sherlock smiled lazily and nodded. He shifted a little, trying to turn so he could settle his head more comfortably on John's chest. But the mess on their stomachs - and Sherlock's back and hand as well as a result from their position - became to annoying to ignore. 

 

Sherlock crinkled his nose. 'We need a shower,' he muttered, staring at his hand. With a groan, he sat up and looked back to John beckoning him to come with him. 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VATICAN CAMEOS!

The next few weeks seem to fly by as everything settled and fell into place. It wasn't something that happened overnight or easily but gradually day by day they could feel the difference and not the changes to their routine. Therapy sessions became short in the morning as trips out became longer in the afternoon. They found themselves moving beyond Baker Street and further into the city. It wasn't easy and sometimes it unnerved John to no end because he worried that Sherlock would try and push himself too fast but for now Sherlock took things in stride and John held his tongue and let Sherlock set his own pace.

 

What seemed to help was the change in Mycroft's involvement. Instead of meddling and trying to fast track Sherlock's introduction back into the spotlight, he found other ways to get his little brother ready for action without alerting everyone that he was back from the dead. He found some cold cases that he had taken from NSY a while back and let Sherlock have a look at them. Sherlock gladly took them, anxious to get back to work and flipped through them, only choosing two out of the twelve.

 

John was happy to see him ease into the files, only focusing on one instead of both at the same time. In the meantime, he had begun to tinker around with some experiments to take his mind off the case he was working when he seemed to hit a dead end.

 

John smiled as he watched him that morning from his chair, pretending to read the newspaper. Anyone else would have found their days boring, but John had been enjoying every single moment, even the bad ones because they were so much more than what his life without Sherlock had become. He didn't take things for granted now and he took it to practice to let Sherlock know whenever the mood struck him, and Sherlock seemed to enjoy it for now

 

The morning definitely hadn't been dull. There was a fine sheen of flour over every surface of the flat and Mrs Hudson had had a fit when she saw the mess Sherlock had made. She set the tray of scones on the coffee table and disappeared to retrieve her vacuum and dusting supplies.

 

‘Oh, mrs Hudson, must you?’ Sherlock whined.

 

‘Hush dear.’ Their landlady ignored Sherlock’s protests as she plugged in the vacuum. ‘Normally I’d do this when you’re out, but this place is positively filthy. Did you have to experiment on that bag of flour? The stuff is everywhere!’

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth and looked at John for help. He didn’t get it. ‘It was vital for the case. I needed to see – ’

 

‘Of course it was dear. Now just let me clean and I’ll be out of your hair in just a tick.’

 

Sherlock huffed, turning back to his microscope, trying to block out the sound of the vacuum. Well, at least it saved from the mindless drabble John had put on this morning. Something about a vote.

 

Mrs Hudson had just finished dusting and begun vacuuming – still ignoring Sherlock's protests – when the TV started blinking in and out.

At first John began to grumble; they had just purchased the new TV (Sherlock had fried the old one last week trying to use the tubes to do something) and if Sherlock had already managed to do something to this one…

 

When John’s voice came over the vacuum, muttering about something that was happening on or with the telly – Sherlock couldn’t care which of these it was – he half contemplated moving to the upstairs bedroom for some peace and quiet. He needed to work. This case was absolutely mesmerising, even though he would never admit it to Mycroft.

 

Mrs Hudson turned off the vacuum, speaking to John about whatever was going on with the telly – wait. That voice.

 

For one horrifying moment Sherlock was convinced that the voice he was hearing, was only in his mind. A trick, a memory, a nightmare. A figment of his imagination. Or the sounds of the vacuum distorted. Sleep deprivation. Nothing more. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t  _be!_

 

_I saw him do it. I saw him –_

The sounds of something falling to the floor stirred Sherlock. John had risen – he could hear his footsteps thundering in his head – and he was saying something, anything, but Sherlock couldn’t seem to hear him over the sounds of that voice coming from the telly.

 

_It can’t be him!_

Sherlock raised his head. Mrs Hudson was clutching her chest, staring at the telly in horror, the vacuum forgotten, at her feet. John was pacing, pale as a sheet, still talking and yet Sherlock couldn’t hear him. That damned voice kept getting louder and louder inside his head, blocking everything else out. But there was no mistaken the question in John’s eyes.

 

_It can’t be… John, I saw him do it. I was there!_

Something flickered on the screen and Sherlock’s feet carried him to the living room. As in a daze, he turned, forcing himself to look once more to that taunting face that had haunted his dreams for years.

 

‘Did you miss me?’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry...
> 
> *edit* thank you all soo much. Remember, we feed off of your kudos and comments and although we might not respond to all of them, we read every single comment multiple times because we just can't believe the response this has been getting. Hugs and kisses for all of you!


	35. Chapter 35

When John saw the image before he heard the voice, his paper was forgotten, fallen to the floor. He was immediately on his feet, trying to console Mrs Hudson, reassuring her that this was just someone's idea of a sick joke. He left her sitting on the couch while he offered to go make her a nice cuppa until they figured this out.

He hadn't noticed that Sherlock had joined them, he had been too busy trying to console Mrs Hudson. He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him to the kitchen, hoping to keep the man quiet until they were out of Mrs Hudson's hearing. It didn't seem to be an issue as Sherlock stood there shocked, unable to form any words. John hadn't seen Sherlock have an episode this bad since that day in the park and he was concerned about the effect it would have on him. There was a million thoughts running through his mind but his first priority was Sherlock's overall being.

‘Sherlock?’ he started, his voice low between them, trying to pull Sherlock's attention to him and not the image and voice on the telly.

 

_'As long as I'm alive, you can save your friend. Got a way out. Well good luck with that...'_

Sherlock could still imagine his heart racing at the sound of the gun firing. Moriarty's mouth open, his dead eyes staring at him, the sickening realisation what was going to happen. His ears had still been ringing when he called John. Moriarty was dead. He was dead; shot his own brains out. They were safe now!

'Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss -'

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock startled at the sound of John's voice, suddenly a lot closer to him. They were in the kitchen while that taunting voice was a background noise from the other room. He could hear Mrs Hudson fretting. But John - still pale, still restless - demanded his attention.

'He is dead,' Sherlock heard himself say. 'He shot himself. He can't be...'  
Sherlock gasped for breath. He hadn't checked. When he had heard the gun go off and saw the blood, he hadn't checked if Moriarty was truly dead. He could have... _oh please, no!_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

'Sir?'

Mycroft stared. And stared. It wasn't often that he found himself at a loss for words, but the image that greeted him from the dashboard had very efficiently stumped him. 'It is on every screen, sir,' Anthea tried again. 'Sir?'

'Turn around. Take... take us to Baker Street, as quick as you can.'

Anthea swallowed and nodded, trying not to think too much of the fact that she had heard her boss stammer for the first time.

 

 

John's first reaction was worry but now he was absolutely terrified but his he pushed his feelings aside and went into captain/doctor mode. He held Sherlock firm and spoke calmly, he raised his hand and brought their eyes together, forcing Sherlock to focus on him and not the TV screen.

He called in the room to Mrs, Hudson, ‘Mrs Hudson, could you be a dear and please turn the telly off? I'll get right to making your tea, I just need to have a quick word with Sherlock.’

Still to shocked to form words herself, she picked up the remote from the coffee table and clicked the off button. She returned the device to the table and brought her hands to her lap, kneading her hands together and trying to stay calm. She knew Sherlock didn't need to see her unravel as well so she sat quietly and tried to think about anything other than the mad man who had just interrupted their morning. She knew this was the safest place for her to be, so she made no attempt to leave the flat, not until the boys had instructed he otherwise.

John turned his attention back to Sherlock who was still mumbling one phrase over and over, ‘It can't be..’

‘Sherlock.’ John said firmly again.

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he was trembling. ‘It really can't be...’ he mumbled, his voice trembling.

Damn it this was not good and John's own anxiety was going through the roof but he would contain it for Sherlock. He would see them through this, whatever this was.

‘Sherlock!’ He began again, a bit more forcefully this time, trying to snap him back to reality. ‘Listen to me damn it. I need you to focus on me so we can figure this out ok. This could all just be one very sick joke someone is playing but I need you to think and I need you to talk to me. Are you absolutely sure he IS dead?’ He really hated to ask the next question, but he knew it needed to be asked. He had never asked it before, simply because it had never been necessary, until now. ‘Did you check the body? Are you absolutely sure he was dead before you jumped?’

 

Sherlock shook his head as John forced him to pay attention to him. No, he hadn't checked the body. Surely that hadn't been necessary; he had shot himself in the head! He had seen it happening himself. Sherlock could still feel the smell of the gunpowder and the blood burn in his nostrils.

'No,' he breathed out, wide-eyed. 'He shot himself, John! There was no way he could have... There was no time. Your life was at stake. Lestrade and Mrs Hudson lives were at stake.' Sherlock ignored the gasp coming said landlady from the living room. 'I had to... There was no time.'

Sherlock was clutching at John's arms, desperate for the psychical connection.  
John was still here. They were supposed to be safe now. And it was with a sinking feeling in his gut that Sherlock realised that they were not anymore, sick joke or not.

_'Your friends will die if you don't.'_

If Moriarty was alive - _NO! He is dead._

'Mycroft,' Sherlock muttered. 'I need to - Mycroft.'

 

John coaxed Sherlock into a chair before he fell over. Sherlock was shaking and John was pretty sure he was unaware of the exact effect this was having him.

He also knew Mycroft was likely on his way to Baker Street already with several guards in tow. There was no way this went unnoticed and he was positive Mycroft would insist on round the clock security to keep his little brother safe till this situation was sorted.

He knew there was no way to distract Sherlock until Mycroft appeared so he decided to keep Sherlock occupied with the facts they already knew, which turned out to be very little, and only served to raise more unanswered questions that needed to be asked.

‘This could all just be an elaborate hoax, set up by someone you missed in the network. This doesn't necessarily mean he's still alive.’ John finally blurted not knowing what else to say.

Sherlock nodded, clinging to John's words. A hoax. Someone was messing with them for whatever reason. Someone must have discover he was still alive. Or - unlikely - it had nothing to do with them.  
Perhaps he had missed someone. He had spent enough time in captivity; someone could have slipped past their view and gone on unnoticed. Until now.

‘I wouldn't be so sure of that,’ chimed a voice from the doorway. John turned to see Mycroft waiting for the next obvious question.

Every scrap of hope Sherlock might have had was destroyed when Mycroft entered the room. Sherlock needed only one look to know that something had gone horribly wrong. His hand was clenched around the handle of his umbrella and there was a tightness around Mycroft's mouth that Sherlock hadn't seen in ages. Before Mycroft spoke, he and Sherlock exchanged a look, which made his stomach sink.

 

‘And why is that?’ John asked angrily, knowing that the answer to come would not be one either he or Sherlock would want to hear.

‘Because I know for fact that the network was completely dismantled. More importantly, it's concerning because we never recovered Moriarty's body.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; we feed off your comments and kudos.


	36. Chapter 36

No body. There had been no... 

Sherlock swallowed, forcing down the bile that threatened to rise up in his throat. He hadn't checked and there had been no body to find.  
'You never said anything,' Sherlock managed to get out. He could feel his anger rising with each word. 'Not one word. John was left here and you promised, you promised me he was safe!'

 

Mycroft's grip tightened and he struggled to contain a sigh of unhappiness. ’And as you can see he was... is safe. I had more important things to worry about little brother, namely you breathing, but John is alive and well is he not. As for not telling you about the body, what good would that have accomplished? It would have made you more reckless, look at what the end result came to be - you got sloppy and got yourself caught all because you worried too much about one person's well-being over your own. We wouldn't be in this mess...’ 

‘Stop it!’ John shouted, turning to face Mycroft. He was dangerously close to crossing the kitchen and grabbing the man by his lapels and shaking some sense into him. ’We all played our own part of this so we all share the blame. Now I'm not going to waste time pointing fingers at the moment, but it seems to me we should focus our energies on what to do now instead of playing the blame game.’ He stood and held his ground, fists clenched at his side. If Mycroft continued to be a dick and didn't relent with his taunting, he would have no problem throwing his arse out of Baker Street and coming up with a plan of their own.

 

Both Holmes brothers seemed to collect themselves after John's outburst.  
He was right, Sherlock had to admit. They didn't have time for this, nor could they waste the energy and time in accusing each other. If Moriarty truly was still alive...  
Sherlock let out a shaking breath at that. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not after everything he had been through. It could not have all been for nothing! 

'We need to get Lestrade into safety.' Sherlock rushed out and Mycroft arched his brow. 'Shut up, Mycroft! You know he - '  
'Yes, I am aware. I have a team collecting him and miss Hooper as we speak.'  
Sherlock nodded.  
Mrs Hudson was standing in the opening of the door now, her hand clasped in front of her mouth as she regarded him. He had brought them all into danger again. For the past two years they had been so close to being... they had always been only one mistake away from death. 

John... 

Sherlock looked at him and never before had he felt such a need to keep him close. He couldn't let him harm John. He wouldn't let him. 

 

Sherlock's look didn't go unnoticed by John. He reached out and rested his hand on Sherlock's upper arm. ’We will get through this together. There is nothing you and I can't do as long as we focus and work together on this.’ He squeezed Sherlock's arm to emphasis the point.

John looked over to Mrs Hudson, full of concern and worry.

She smiled and spoke lightly, ‘Maybe it's best if I just go stay with my sister until all this blows over?’

‘No!’ both Holmes' brothers exclaimed together. At least they could still agree on something. 

Mycroft turned his attention to the landlady. ’Mrs Hudson, the safest place will actually be here at Baker Street. As of now there will be guards posted here 24/7 until further notice.’

‘But what if I need to go somewhere?’ she interjected.

‘I will have an adequate number of guards stationed here to accommodate all of you. You can carry on as normal. You won't even know they are present. The only time you will see them is when you need to leave the premises.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to speak when John cut him off. ’That sounds like a good idea. Thank you Mycroft.’ He gave Sherlock a pointed look, daring him to try and argue the point.

Mrs Hudson nodded. ’I suppose that will be fine, but I'll have to make a trip to the Tesco's for some supplies, I don't have enough tea or biscuits for everyone. And don't you boys tell me it isn't necessary. If I'm going to be cooped up for a bit, I'm going to need some provisions and maybe a few books.’ She noticed the guilty look on Sherlock's face. She moved closer and patted his arm. ’Don't place the blame on yourself dear. I know you're going to do everything in your power to make this right quickly. I'll just be on my way then. I'm sure you boys have plenty to do.’

 

'Not alone,' Sherlock interjected before Mrs Hudson could leave. 'Mycroft...'  
'There will be someone accompanying her. I promise, Sherlock.'

The two men looked at each other for a moment before Sherlock nodded silently. Mycroft would do anything to keep them safe.  
Mycroft's phone went off and the older Holmes excused himself as he turned to take the call, leaving Sherlock and John relatively alone; Mrs Hudson was still a bit shaky from shock and calming herself with deep breaths. 

Sherlock reached out, grabbing John's hand with his own. 'John...'

 

Left basically alone, with Mrs Hudson being accompanied back to her flat and Mycroft and the other guard in the other room, John pulled Sherlock close and wrapped him in his arms. He kissed the top of his head through a mess of curls and held him close. 

‘Everything will be OK.’ he assured him. ’This isn't your fault. We will figure this out and put an end to it once and for all.’

He could feel Sherlock clutching the fabric of his shirt in a death grip. He wasn't shaking any longer, but his body was tense and rigid. John was going to have to keep a close eye on Sherlock. Whatever happened from here out could very well make or break the detective for good, but he knew he needn't voice his concerns.

‘John, I'm...’ Sherlock began again with a shaky voice now that they were alone.

‘Don't.’ He put a bit of space between them and cupped his cheeks. lifting his face to bring their eyes together. ’I don't blame you for this. We've both faced worse by ourselves and survived. Think of what we can do now that we're together.’

Sherlock was about to say something when Mycroft appeared in the doorway again. ’We need to go. Apparently the good DI is having a tantrum being denied access to a fresh murder scene and detained for reasons yet unknown to him. I've also taken then liberty of securing said murder scene because there are some very disturbing facets of it that I think you should have a look at Sherlock.’

John shook his head and sighed. He knew this was no coincidence, just as he knew that Sherlock no longer had the choice of taking his time with his recovery. He needed to be back out there doing what he did best. All John could do was make sure to be by his side to catch him if he fell again.

 

Sherlock pulled himself away from John, forcing himself to stand. 'So, the game is on again,' he muttered resigned and to himself before he grabbed his coat.  
'Lead the way, Mycroft.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; we feed off your comments and kudos.
> 
> Edit: sorry for the notification for chapter 37. Working the night shift and updating and editing chapters isn't really a good combination!


	37. Chapter 37

The ride to the crime scene - and Sherlock hadn't been able to decipher any details from his brother about that - was tense. Every man was stuck in their own minds, though Sherlock and John sat closely together, their fingers brushing as if to verify the other one was still there. 

 

 

Sherlock repeated his last meeting with Moriarty on that roof over and over and over again, trying to look for something he had missed. Something that might provide him a hint on how Moriarty might have faked his death along with him. But there was nothing. 

No way Moriarty might have survived a gunshot wound to the head from that short distance. 

 

As they drew nearer to the crime scene, Sherlock felt an odd sense of deja-vu creep up on him. He had been here, over two years ago, a day before his life was forced to end. 

The warehouse. The children. Hansel and Gretel. 

 

Sherlock did not dare to think about what it might mean.  

 

 

 

It was eerily quiet and John couldn't figure out why. They were on their way to a crime scene of some importance, yet given no information on what to expect. This did not sit well with him at all, not when Mycroft was involved. Also if one factored in that Lestrade had been essentially banned from the scene until their arrival, something big was going on.

 

All eyes were on the black SUV as it pulled up alongside the forensic vans. Lestrade and Donovan waited with bated breath to see who their mystery company was even though Greg had a pretty good idea who, though not the reason why. When Mycroft crawled from the confines of the vehicle, Donovan rolled her eyes and Lestrade immediately began his tirade.

 

‘Oh bloody hell, I figured it was you but what I can't figure out is why the British government cares about a seemingly nondescript double murder. I mean...’ Lestrade's voice trailed off expecting some kind of reply from Mycroft, what he got instead was John Watson crawling out of the back of the SUV. Lestrade blinked, it was all beginning to come together now. The murder, Mycroft's interest, the only thing missing was Sherlock.

 

‘Lestrade.’ John greeted as they came face to face for the first time in a few months. The last time they had seen each other was a few months back when he and Mary had run into the DI after celebrating an anniversary dinner.

 

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and turned his attention to Mycroft now. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

 

‘Perfectly sound.’ was Mycroft's clipped reply.

 

‘I’m not so sure of that.’ Lestrade said sceptically.

 

‘Ok, look,’ John interrupted looking to Mycroft. ‘Maybe it's time to explain why we're here.’

 

‘Look,’ Lestrade began again. ‘I am perfectly capable of handling this now that I can see your interest in the matter.’

 

‘And what interest would that be?’ came the unmistakable voice from inside the car.

 

Lestrade's eyes went wide and came to rest on John before turning back to the car and questioning what he now saw.

 

‘Really, Lestrade,’ Sherlock continued, ‘would you mind sharing why my brother has dragged us here because he hasn't told us a thing.’

 

 

Knock on the head. It had to be. There was no other reason why Greg just thought he heard Sherlock's voice coming from the car. There was no way in Hell Sherlock was - oh sweet mother of... 

 

Sherlock - or someone who looked a hell of a lot like the dead man - stepped out the car and met Greg's stunned gaze with the same amount of haughtiness Greg thought he'd never see again. And definitely not from him. 

Sally made a strange sort of sound from the back of her throat. Greg blinked. 

 

Okay. Not a blow to the head then.

 

'You...'

 

Greg closed his mouth and tried again. 'You are...' 

He looked over to John and Mycroft but they weren't much help at all.

 

The dead man wearing Sherlock's face rolled his eyes and oh God, Greg never thought he'd be relieved to see that look directed to him again. 'I do believe we are in a bit of a hurry, Lestrade. Now, why are we here, Mycroft?'

 

Mycroft turned to Sherlock and directed them to the entrance of the warehouse, all but ignoring Lestrade and Donovan. Sherlock seemed a little hesitant to follow him just yet, keeping his eye on Lestrade for the moment. 

 

'Lestrade...'

 

'Oh, you bastard!' Greg blurted out suddenly, startling Donovan out of her stupor. 'You're alive?!'

 

'Obviously.'

 

John sighed and Greg took a large step forward to Sherlock. Not dead. Here. Alive. Sherlock fucking Holmes is alive! 'Shut up! You - Jesus, Sherlock.' 

Before anyone could respond, Greg grabbed Sherlock's coat and wrapped the man in his arms. 'Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock,' he muttered again, shaking his head. 'Of course you bloody faked it... damn you.'

 

 

John had to suppress a smile. Yes, this was a bit of a new Sherlock and it shocked quite a few people to see that Sherlock didn't belittle Greg for his outburst of sentiment. There really wasn't too much time to linger on that thought because they were off right away being led into the warehouse.

 

John had expected Greg's excited chatter to continue on through the warehouse but it died when they stepped inside. It struck John as odd and gave him an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

It was completely dark inside the warehouse except for the corner they were headed. He was the last to approach the scene and what he saw shook him to his core. For Greg to have worked this out after meeting Mary only one, this accomplished the message that was being sent.

 

’Get Sherlock.’

 

It may have well been written in big bold letters on the wall. John immediately looked to Sherlock, who stumbled back, hit square in the chest with the clear message.

 

Those you love aren't safe and John was fairly certain this was just the beginning.

 

There were two bodies, one male one female. The male was tied to a chair facing the group that observed them now. He was outfitted in a pair loafers, denim jeans, plaid shirt and black jacket. A single bullet wound straight through the heart. The woman, dressed in a nurse's outfit and red jacket also faced them. Her demise however was different. A single shot to the forehead.

 

 

Sherlock felt his breath leave him in a rush at the sight of the two bodies in front of them and immediately he staggered back. This couldn't be happening, he thought to himself. Not after those two years away. Not now. This couldn't be - 

John's hand brushed his own and Sherlock took a deep breath. John was alive. He was fine. This is was nothing more than a sick game being played. He could solve this. He had to!

 

He felt everyone's gaze on him as he straightened himself and forced himself to look at the bodies objectively. 

 

Male. Female. Roughly the same age. Disconcerting resemblance to both John Watson and Mary Morstan - same hair colour, same height, same clothing. A message to him. Obviously. Man, shot through the heart -  _I'll burn the heart out of you_ \- woman, shot through her head at close range. Impersonal. Execution. 

 

It was a warning. _Your friends will die if you don't._

It wasn't about the woman. It was about John. Mary would be in danger because of her association with John - Mycroft would pick up on that too, Sherlock concluded. She'd be protected as well. 

 

Sherlock crouched down next to the bound man when Sherlock's phone chimed in his coat. He froze. No one but John, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft had that number. Mycroft had reached to the same conclusion because he immediately stepped closer to him. 'Sherlock...'

Sherlock stood, reached for his phone and ignored the way his hand trembled. With one look at John to remind himself that he was still there, he opened the new text message he had received.

 

_The deal was that you'd die, Sherlock. Now they will. x_


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your (freaked out) comments! We loved them. Yeah, things are definitely looking a bit not good for our boys...

John kept his focus on Sherlock. He should really be paying attention to the scene in front of him but he knew how shaken Sherlock was. The first signs of distress and he would pull Sherlock out of this, he didn't care how pissed off everyone would get in the process. He gave Sherlock space as he surveyed the scene and began to process things. John couldn't decide why he was being silent though, usually by this point he would be spouting off deductions rapid fire.

 

He took a few steps forward and brushed Sherlock's hand to reassure him of his presence and remind him he was safe. It seemed to spur the detective on. He began moving around only pausing when his phone chimed. Sherlock checked the message and for all appearances, seemed to brush it off. John knew differently though and intended on questioning him later when they were alone. He would give the detective a bit of latitude here, he realised there were some things they couldn't discuss out in the open, but he would be sure to remind him of their promise to each other - they were in this together.

 

‘So,’ Lestrade finally started, breaking the silence in the room. ’Does anyone want to address the elephant in the room or should we just ignore it?’

 

Sherlock threw Lestrade a quick glance and he pocketed his phone again, heart racing. He needed to fix this first. Get everyone to safety before he could focus on finding out where Moriarty was. And how on Earth he had survived. 

 

'It is a warning,' Sherlock muttered and he could see Mycroft nodding. 'He found two people who looked like...' Sherlock couldn't say it. No matter the fact John was standing close to him, breathing. 

 

'Hold on, he? Don't tell me...'

 

Sherlock turned to face Lestrade. 'Who else? Who else could it be?'

 

'He is dead!'

 

Nobody said anything. 'Right,' Greg muttered. 'Forget I said that.'

 

 

John had been running different scenarios through his head all morning that could explain how Moriarty managed to survive the Fall. Now seemed as good as time as any to throw them out there.

 

‘No, I think it's an avenue we need to consider. It's entirely possible he could have survived that day, so we cannot write it off.’ He raised his hands to quiet them before they could object. ’Now I know what you're going to say, there's no way but just listen to me. He could have very well survived a head wound but I don't see Moriarty risking that because too many things can go wrong. I think like you he faked it and while I don't have all the specifics narrowed down, I'm sure he could have done it.’ He turned to Sherlock and debated asking the next question, ‘I hate to bring this up now and we can discuss it later, but I think you'll see my point once we address it. I know you didn't check the body for a pulse, but you looked at him yea? What did he look like. More specifically what did it look like on the cement behind him? Was there brain matter, blood, if so how much? See where I'm going with this?’

 

He waited to see everyone's else reaction.

 

_'Well good luck with that.'_

 

Sherlock could see the gun lifting to Moriarty's head, the insane smile widening. He could hear the gun firing. The smell of the gunpowder and blood. His eyes dead, wide and staring towards the sky, the hint of a smile still adorning his lips. 

But more than anything, Sherlock felt the panic. He was running out of time. John's life was in danger and he needed jump, he needed to save him, he needed to - 

 

'I...' Sherlock shook his head, trying to clear the image in his mind. 'There was blood. I couldn't see... there was hardly any time, John. You were already on your way and I needed to -' He took a deep breath. 'I - I don't know.' 

He didn't know. 

 

He knew Sherlock hadn't overlooked anything so he turned to his next best source of information for that day - Mycroft.

 

‘How about you, what did your men find when they finally made it to the roof top? Was there anything left at all, any trace of blood or was it totally clean, because if there was nothing then we have a huge problem. We have to face the fact that he's more than likely alive and well somewhere and has been following Sherlock's every move very carefully. Which brings me to my next point. How did you know he had been caught and was being held in Serbia? How did the information slip out because if Moriarty had him in his clutches then, why didn't he dispose of him?’

 

John hated to bring all of this up now, but it needed to be considered.

 

 

'Serbia?' Greg interjected confused. 'What the hell is going on?'

 

But Mycroft ignored him. So did Sherlock and Greg threw his hands up in frustration. Two years and nothing had changed. 

 

'We found no body,' Mycroft explained, keeping a close eye on his brother who was looking back at the bodies again. 'There was blood to be found. However, due to the circumstances, we did not,' Mycroft hesitated for a moment causing Sherlock's head to snap back up to him, 'felt the need to check to who the blood belonged to.'

 

Sherlock surged forward, grabbing Mycroft by his coat. 'You didn't check?!' he hissed.

'He shot himself, as you said, Sherlock. We had other matters to concern ourselves with, such as getting you safely out of the country as you can recall.'

Sherlock snarled and moved away from his brother before he would do something he might - well not regret but he really shouldn't. Mycroft straightened himself and continued; 'As for Serbia; we knew Sherlock was there. It was supposed to be easy. Break in, get the information and get out again. When Sherlock didn't contact us at the agreed upon time...' Mycroft trailed off. 

 

'So what you're saying is that this -' Greg pointed at the bodies '- could really be him. Moriarty. Earlier, on the telly. That was really - oh shit, I need to sit down...'

 

 

John shook his head and closed his eyes when Mycroft admitted they hadn't followed through clean up and containment on Bart's rooftop that day. He wondered if procedure had been followed if they'd be faced with this now, but it was really a moot point. 

 

John moved between Mycroft and Sherlock, now was not a time for discord amongst the ranks.

 

‘Look, no matter what, there is another player in the game that we can't ignore. So, let's forget about what happened and focus on what's going on now. Whoever this is, is taunting Sherlock. If it's not Moriarty than we have to consider out who else that could be, but since no one else knows that Sherlock is still alive, well present company included, it really only does leave one option. So how about we get everything catalogued as need be and get these bodies to the morgue so we can start to make some sense of this.’

 

Ever the soldier. 

 

Sherlock nodded at John's suggestion. They needed to get out of here. Whoever was behind this would probably be looking in - the text was proof enough of that. They needed to get back on their own ground and the hospital was as safe a place as any. 

 

'Contact Molly,' he snapped towards Mycroft. 'Let her clean out the morgue and make sure she is alone and safe before we go there.' 

Mycroft inclined his head and pulled out his phone while Lestrade and Sherlock turned their attention back to the bodies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: we feed off of your kudos and comments


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so much for your comments and kudos. They make our day!

There was nothing. No sign as to who these bodies had been. No clue about how they had been brought here. Nothing. Everything had been wiped clean efficiently.

Sherlock gritted his teeth in frustration. They needed to get to the morgue if he were to learn anything.

 

 

While Mycroft was busy making sure the morgue was cleared and prepared for their arrival, Lestrade was busy directing his forensics team to a quick completion of the task of getting the bodies ready for transport. There was little talk through all of this though there was a lot of staring - at Sherlock and John who stood off in a far corner deep in conversation.

 

‘I know there's a lot going on and that you're putting this on yourself, but don't for one minute think I won't hesitate to pull you off of this and leave it to Mycroft and NSY. And before you start giving me the hundred or so reasons as to why that would be the worst idea ever, let me give you the one that trumps it all. Your life and your wellbeing. I'm not risking either, just as you're not apt to risk mine, or the others as well. But there is one thing that concerns me. I want you to have Mycroft arrange a guard for Mary.’ Sherlock's eyes went wide first with panic and then when it dawned on him the reason John was insisting , he nodded.

 

‘Certainly, and you are correct in wanting that for her. We inadvertently put her in danger and I am sorry.’ Sherlock said taking his hand to further illustrate his apology.

 

‘Sherlock, this isn't your fault, but she does deserve to be protected...’ he had more to say but cut John off.

 

‘No, you misunderstand. I'm sorry for my initial reaction as to why you wanted someone to look after her in the first place. Please forgive me, I was being cruel and petty.’

 

John grinned and cupped Sherlock's cheek, brushing his thumb over Sherlock's cheek bone. He was rather impresses with Sherlock's admission to this, especially since John hadn't even picked up on it.

 

‘Thank you. And before I forget, what was text you got earlier when you were examining the bodies?’

 

 

Sherlock struggled to keep eye contact with John as he opened his mouth. 

'Mrs Hudson,' he replied. 'To ask us if we were alright. But I'll talk to Mycroft. I reckon he owes me a few favours after what he - ' Sherlock forced himself to stop talking. He couldn't afford to get angry. Not now. Not with so much at stake. 

It killed him to lie to John - again - but if John knew the full extent of the threat already being directed in his, and more importantly, Mary's way, he'd risk John doing something insanely noble and dangerous. As he always did. 

 

Never again. John was supposed to be safe and therefore, so should Mary. 

 

John quirked his eyebrow at Sherlock's explanation of the text message. He wanted to believe Sherlock was telling him the truth but there was a brief moment where their eye contact wavered and John questioned it. He knew though, now was not the place to raise the subject.

 

Sherlock leaned into John's touch, allowing himself one moment, before he pulled himself away. Lestrade and Mycroft were standing a short distance away, neither of them bothering to hide their stares but neither of them said anything about the small moment of affection between the two men. Although, Lestrade did look somewhat smug. 

 

'Call your men,' Sherlock barked out to Mycroft. 'Mary Morstan needs to brought into your protection, immediately.'

 

Mycroft nodded sharply and pulled out his phone as they made their way back to the cars. 

 

John began to formulate how to bring the text message up without sounding like a right bastard, but then was completely thrown off guard when Sherlock barked at Mycroft, demanding protection for Mary. This was definitely a new Sherlock. Maybe whatever Sherlock was holding back about the text message pertained to Mary and that's why, maybe when they had more privacy Sherlock would tell him then.

 

 

The ride to the morgue was fairly more exciting than the ride to the warehouse. He listened to the arrangements Mycroft was making for Mary and he was silently thankful. It occurred to him then that maybe he should text her to explain to her what was going on, but then Sherlock made some comment about the bodies and their placement and John completely forgot about it.

 

They were deep in conversation when they pulled up to Bart's but the conversation stalled as Sherlock stepped out onto the curb and looked at Bart's, the roof specifically.

 

John placed his hand on the small of Sherlock's back to comfort and soothe him.

 

 

Sherlock's eyes were drawn to the roof before he could think about it. This place had brought him so much on the day that John Watson limped into his life and it had taken so much from him at the moment he stepped from the rooftop. To never return to this place was something Sherlock knew would never happen - st. Bart's would always be a part of his life - but he had hoped that he would never have to go back here with Moriarty's presence hanging around them. 

 

But John's steady hand in the small of his back pulled him back and he exhaled. 'It... I'm fine, John.' 

Sherlock turned his head slightly to regard John and tried reassure him with a soft smile. 

 

 

That was Sherlock for you, trying to brush it off, trying to fall back into the outward perception that everyone remembers him for. John just shook his head slightly and let him go - for now, he would intervene only if it became a problem.

 

 

Mycroft was about to crawl out of the car to join them when Anthea stopped him. ’Sir, there are some things that need your immediate attention. It would be easier to see to them back at the office.’

 

Mycroft looked from her back to Sherlock, who just huffed and rolled his eyes, ‘Go, you'll do me no favours here anyway muttering about everything under the sky, but I suggest you take care of Miss Morstan.’

 

It was Mycroft's turn to roll his eyes now. ’Brother dear, the guard should already be in place or nearly there. Agent Williams here will be your escort for the rest of the evening. You will go nowhere without him. Do you understand me?’ He gave Sherlock a stern look and Sherlock finally relented and nodded when John poked him in his side. Mycroft suppressed the smile at John's action, the influence he had over Sherlock, maybe this would go easier than Mycroft thought. ’He will also be keeping me apprised of the situation since I know you will be too busy to bother checking in.’

 

‘Well maybe we wouldn't be...’

 

John startled them both into silence with one well-placed high pitched whistle. ’For God's sake! Can we just forgo this and be pissy with each other after this is all a fond memory. We all have things to do so you,’ he pointed at Mycroft, ‘Go back to your bloody office and do whatever it is that requires your attention, and you,’ he point at the guard, ‘Come with us. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.’

 

As John was putting an end to the shenanigans (once again), Lestrade was pulled up in his cruiser. ’How in the bloody hell did you beat us here?’ He said trying to lighten the atmosphere, knowing it was never a happy situation when both Holmes' brothers where within twenty feet of each other. Mycroft tucked back inside the car and shut the door, the vehicle pulling away from the curb quickly and disappearing. ’Always the charmer that one. So what have I missed besides everything and who is this fella?’ Lestrade questioned, motioning to the guard they picked since leaving the crime scene.

 

 

Sherlock was determined not to waste any more time and paraded inside the hospital, completely one track minded. He couldn't allow himself any more distractions. This time, he sternly told himself. This time he would end this. 

Greg and John followed him at the same pace he had set as he lead the way to the morgue. 

 

'Molly.'

Sherlock called out to her the moment he opened the doors. Molly, in the process of some paperwork, startled, nearly falling off of her chair. She turned quickly, mouth open in shock.

'Sherlock! You're back... when did you - Greg! John!' Molly blinked a couple of times trying to process what she saw. Two years had passed and yet here they were again, as if nothing had changed. When she saw Moriarty's face on every screen and channel that morning - and the appearance of a nameless suit with an earpiece in, claiming he was working for Mr Holmes - Molly realised she should have guessed this would happen. 

 

Molly rose to her feet, a tentative smile on her face, when she saw the severity on the faces of the men. 

'What is going on?'

 

Sherlock didn't bother with anymore pleasantries than necessary, he promptly made his way across the room and began preparing his usual work space. It was nice to see that Molly had kept it clear of clutter and use, she knew he'd be back one day and it didn't go unnoticed.

 

 

John grimaced and shrugged his shoulders as if to say you know how it is, he was getting ready to explain when Lestrade interrupted and made his way over to where Molly stood.

 

‘We've got two bodies on the way up, most likely Moriarty's work, but the entire scene was clean. I've never seen anything quite like it. Someone went to a lot of trouble to set up sucjh a pristine seen. Well, it wasn't without a message though, that was certainly clear.’

 

John had walked over to try and help Sherlock, keep him from worrying on the external stimuli - namely Lestrade's incessant chattering and their new guard in the corner. John had thought Sherlock was blocking them all out until he knocked a few of the beakers over, apparently he had heard some of Lestrade's comments. He placed his hand over Sherlock's.

 

‘Hey,’ he began softly. ’Deep breath. We're going to get through this.’

 

He looked up and their eyes locked. He truly wished he could believe the words John spoke right now. He wanted to but so many things had happened and apparently gone wrong last time and here they were, things in total disarray and they weren't safe. Not as long as Moriarty was still out there.

 

John said nothing more, just rubbed little circles into the back of his hands for a few moments to serve as reassurance - a testament of his faith in Sherlock.

 

 

Molly watched in amazement when she saw John move up to Sherlock to display a kind of intimacy and affection she had not seen before between the two men. Not a lot of said between them but she could see the tight line of Sherlock's shoulders sag a little and the hardness of his face fade. For a moment, Molly felt like she truly saw what lie beneath the cold mask Sherlock presented to the rest of the world before she had to look away. It was almost too intimate for an outsider to watch and Greg did the same. 

 

Sherlock did as John asked. He breathed in deeply, focusing on nothing else but the weight of John's hand on his own as his mind slowed down. It wouldn't go like last time, he promised himself. He wouldn't allow it. John would be there with him, not as a weakness, but representing something that could give him the strength to keep going without losing himself. 

 

'We will,' he vowed. Sherlock turned his hand, squeezing John's fingers, before turning to Molly and Lestrade. 'Molly. It looks like I need your help once again.'

Molly, straightening her back and lifting her chin, stepped forward. 'What do you need?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember we feed off of your comments and kudos.


	40. Chapter 40

Molly's demeanour instantly changed as she set out her mission to help Sherlock. She got two examining tables ready and switched on all the equipment they would need to help them unravel any clues they would find. Surely Lestrade had been exaggerating when he claimed it was a pristine scene. There was something there, there always was, they just had to find it.

 

As she was setting out her instruments, Lestrade stayed close, continuing their conversation, leaving John and Sherlock to their own.

 

‘So you didn't seem all that surprised to see Sherlock standing in your lab when we first arrived. And what did he mean about needing your help again?’

 

‘Well, I'm sure you even you can conclude for yourself that I helped with Sherlock's 'death'. I always knew this day would come, so no it wasn't really too surprising when you all descended on the lab. What was surprising though is Moriarty. I had always wondered, about that.’

 

Greg had almost been affronted by Molly's remark but then he realised he hadn't been privy to the things she had, so he let it slide by. No reason to hold a grudge over something so trivial. He also understood why Mycroft utilised her, in all the years he had known her, he never had cause to question her work or her ethics. His curiosity was piqued once again however, ‘Wondered about what?’

 

‘Well, I know Mycroft wouldn't have 'entrusted' me with something as major as Moriarty's autopsy, but there were several things that didn't fit that day. I never saw any hint of removal of a body from the roof top that day and I never saw or signed a death certificate for him. One would have assumed that since I presided over Sherlock's case in that manner, they would use me for Moriarty as well, there would be no reason to send him somewhere else, especially since we were at the morgue. If one were so apt to do some digging, they would find all sorts of anomalies. I wonder if someone had finally caught on to that or if it really is Moriarty like everyone assumes.’

 

Lestrade quirked an eyebrow. She raised some very good points. He looked over to John and Sherlock who still spoke quietly to each other. ’I wonder if he's thought of that. Maybe you should mention it to him.’

 

She blushed, ‘I'm sure he's already considered it. Besides, I'm sure he's got plenty on his mind.’ She said nodding towards them, noting how John still held his hand.

 

‘Yea, seems a lot of things have changed for them, but I do think it's worth a mention. I don't know the exact extent of what Sherlock has been through, but I sense from some of the things John and Mycroft have said that he's not at 100%, and then there's the whole guard thing to factor in. Since when have you ever known Sherlock to willingly except any kind of help, much less a guard from his brother?’

 

‘You're right. And that worries me.’ She said, glancing back over them wondering if she should bother them and tell Sherlock about that day.

 

Greg regarded the men for a moment, before he frowned. 

'You could have told me. Or John.'

 

Molly nearly dropped the materials from her hands and rounded to him. 'No, I really couldn't have,' she whispered, a little heated. 

'Jeez, Molly, you know how John was like during those years. If he had known - '

'Don't you think I know?' she hissed. Molly tried to keep her voice down - she didn't want Sherlock and John listening in on them. 'I saw him, Greg. Every time I saw him, it killed me and I  _hated_ it! But it saved your lives and I would do it again in a heartbeat.'

'Saved our lives? What are you - '

 

'Molly!'

Molly didn't hesitate to turn move to Sherlock to help him when he called out to her, leaving Greg a bit gobsmacked. He was saved by the ringing of his phone, alerting him that the bodies had arrived and where now on their way here. 

 

 

John jumped as Sherlock barked Molly's name. Well at least some things haven't changed he thought amusedly to himself. Though that wasn't quite true. The dynamic between Sherlock and Molly had certainly changed, she was no longer a love sick puppy when it came to Sherlock, but a fierce ally who would do anything within her power to help Sherlock any way possible. 

 

Sherlock began laying out the order in which he wanted things done when the bodies finally arrived. He then gave detailed instructions to Lestrade on what his forensics team should be focussing on.

 

When he was finished he turned to John. ‘I will find what I need to bring this to an end swiftly.’

 

‘I know you will Sherlock, but the point is you don't have to do this alone.’

 

 

No, he wouldn't have to do it alone. Not this time. At one hand Sherlock was immensely grateful for it. John would be with him, with a steady hand and his offer for comfort. He would be there. But only if Sherlock would allow it. 

The text he had received sprang back to his mind suddenly. He had lied. Again, and for a moment he contemplated telling the truth but the arrival of the bodies into the morgue, distracted him. 

 

Later, he told himself. Later. 

 

Molly and Sherlock worked efficiently and quickly. Everything that was there to find, no matter how little, they found and wrote down. 

 

 

John had been trying to keep himself occupied, paying attention to what Sherlock and Molly worked on while staying out of their way. He had switched his phone to silent at some point and didn't realise it was buzzing when Sherlock stopped his examination and glared at John, ‘Are you going to get that?’

 

It took John a moment, ‘Oh, sorry.’ he mumbled as he dug in his pocket withdrawing his phone.

 

‘Hello?’ He said softly, walking to the other side of the lab so as not to disturb Sherlock any further.

 

 _‘John, John!’_ came the frightened voice over the line.

 

‘Mary, is that you?’

 

‘ _John, there's someone here and I don't know what to do. They're trying to get in the door and... and,’_ she said breathlessly.

 

‘Shit, I'm sorry. I completely forgot to call. It's an agent that Mycroft sent over. I'm sure you've seen the telly, it's just a precaution, to keep you safe, until this blows over.’

 

 _‘No, you don't understand John,’_  she said in a hushed tone. _’No one knocked or rung the bell. I almost didn't notice. He's trying to pick the lock, I've just gotten home and no lights are on so it looks like no one's home. I'm hiding in the closet. I'm scared. I don't know what to do.’_

 

‘Shit just stay hidden,’ he said, his heart beginning to race. ’I'm on my way. Thankfully I'm not that far away. I'm going to hang up now, call 999 and tell them someone's attempting to break in.’

 

_‘OK, please hurry.’_

 

John crossed the room in a few short steps.

’I'm leaving. I'll be back.’ he announced, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

 

 

Sherlock’s head snapped up when he heard the growing panic in John’s voice. Something was wrong. Something had already gone horribly wrong.

 

When John announced he was going to leave, Sherlock felt his stomach lurch.

 

‘No.’ It was impossible to keep the terror from his own voice but he didn’t care. John couldn’t leave. He couldn’t.

 

Memories of the last time John had been called away like this came rushing back to him. This was a game Moriarty would play. Separate them. Make them vulnerable. He couldn’t allow that to happen again. Sherlock would never forgive himself if something were to happen like this.

 

‘No, John. You can’t.’ Sherlock moved away from the bodies, stepping closer to John, silently begging him not to do this again. John had promised they would face this together. ‘Mycroft’s men… they’ll be closer. Let them go. Please, John…’

_Not again._

 

 

‘Mary's in trouble because of us. No because of me. This is on me. I have to go. Look I can understand your concern, but one of Mycroft's men is almost there and I had her call 999. I will be safe and I will have back up there. Besides it's not like I'm going in unprepared. I've got my weapon and I know what I'm potentially walking into. If it looks bad I won't enter. I'll wait for back up.’

 

Sherlock tried not to look any more panicked then he already was and Molly knew better than to intervene. She would have suggested John take Lestrade along only he had gotten paged right after the bodies had arrived and had to leave.

 

John looked imploringly at Sherlock, silently begging him to trust him on this and not to have a fight in front of Molly. ’Sherlock, I need to do this, please understand.’ He said, his eyes falling to the body that laid in front of Sherlock. A body that looked almost identical to Mary's.

 

Sherlock followed John’s look to the dead woman on the slab. But he didn’t care. He knew it was selfish and more than a bit not good, but he didn’t care. He had faked his death to prevent John from ending up dead and he had failed. His lack of focus had allowed for Moriarty to survive their encounter on the roof. His mistake had caused John’s life to be in danger, again.

 

Sherlock shook his head. ‘John, you can’t… if his men are there. It is a trap. They would go after her for no other reason. He is after you and I can’t – I can’t lose you. Please. Mycroft’s men can…’

But he knew. He knew John and he knew that John would want to go there. No matter how Sherlock would protest or beg.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to tie John down and lock the door so he couldn’t leave and no one could reach him even though John might never forgive him for it. 

 

Molly snipped a random piece of fabric from the coat and quickly walked over to the machines on the other side of the lab, giving the two some much needed privacy. John was thankful he wouldn't have to do this in front of her right now. He moved closer to Sherlock and took his hands in his own. ’I know this scares you. It scares me too, right down to my core, but I can't let this go. If anything were to happen to Mary because of me, I would never forgive myself. I know what I'm asking of you but I need to do this. I need you to trust me. Please.’

 

John hated this more than anything, hated himself for asking this of Sherlock, but he needed to make things right, and in the process he would make sure they would take down Moriarty in the process.

 

 

Sherlock gripped John's hands tightly, as if his mere strength alone could stop John from going. Ludicrous idea, of course, but Sherlock needed to feel John as well. As much as he possibly could in the circumstances. 

 

'Do not go in alone,' he hissed, throat tight with dread. 'Do you hear me? I want you to promise me. If you go in alone, I'll never let you out of my sight again. I'll never forgive you. You have to come back, do you understand?' 

Sherlock hated this more than he could possible express into words. 

 

 

This was so wrong and he couldn't shake the knot in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't let his fears be known to Sherlock. He'd knew Sherlock would never allow him to go if John felt the slightest trepidation of being able to handle this on his own. He felt fairly confident he could pull this off easily. His plan was to get Mary and get out as quickly as possible and bring her back to the lab or perhaps even Baker Street. She could stay in the extra room upstairs, just until this was over.

 

‘I promise. I won't be gone long and you won't even notice I'm gone because you have a case to solve.’ John tried to joke in a light hearted voice. He cupped Sherlock's cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. He didn't care anymore who was in the room, he wasn't leaving without this. He kept it relatively chaste, nipping on his bottom lip just a bit, before resting his forehead on Sherlock's ’I promise. I won' let anything bad happen. I love you.’ he murmured softly as he stood, straighten his jacket before he turned to leave. As he pushed the doors, he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

 

Sherlock clung to John for as long as he could. Their lips slide against each other and Sherlock never thought he could hate kissing John Watson. But he did right now. It felt too much like a final goodbye and this wasn't that. It couldn't be that. John would come back to him. He had promised. 

 

He stood silent for a moment, unsure what to do with himself as John steeled himself and left the morgue. Sherlock had no idea how long he stood there, frozen, before Molly came up next to him. 

 

'He'll be back, Sherlock,' she whispered, placing her hand on his arm. 'He knows what he is doing. John can protect himself.'

Sherlock nodded. He had to believe that too. 

 

 

Molly tried to keep Sherlock occupied as the seconds stretched into minutes and the minutes into hours. It had almost worked until the end of the second hour when they had run through every possible test they could think of.

 

Sherlock had realised the amount of time that had passed about half an hour ago and had begun texting John incessantly at that point. She had to admit she was worried as well and had sent several messages to Lestrade that went unanswered as well. That couldn't be a good sign, but she chose to stay upbeat about it.

 

They had been sitting side by side and Sherlock had nearly thrown his phone across the room after another few moments of no response to his latest text. He let the device fall to the table with a loud clatter.

 

Molly reached over and took his hand. ’I'm sure everything's fine. John would have called you or texted you if there was a problem, so maybe they're just busy with answering questions or paperwork. He said the police were on the way and you know from experience how long it can take to get through all of that.’ She didn't want to mention she couldn't get through to Lestrade so she suggested redoing some of the last few tests they had run since Sherlock had been distracted.

 

 

No matter how hard Sherlock tried, he couldn't concentrate. John's words kept playing over and over in his mind and the crippling fear that this might have been the last time he had seen him -  _I haven't even told him I loved him back -_ made him sloppy and uncoordinated. Thankfully Molly had picked up on his worrying and tried to distract him with test after test. 

 

But time ticked by mercilessly and Sherlock couldn't stop himself; he texted John. 

No response. 

He texted again and again, even called. 

Nothing. 

 

His heart was pounding in fear and Molly's words didn't reassure him. 

'Something must have happened,' he muttered under his breath. 'They would have texted...' But John's phone had been on silent - Sherlock had been the one who had to alert him to the buzzing of his phone. Perhaps he really hadn't seen the messages. 

 

John startled as his eyes flicked open. His vision was blurry but he didn't need his sight or to lift his aching head to know where he was, the scent alone told him. The acrid smell of chlorine was burning his nose and the lining in his lungs and he now noticed his heart was racing and his breathing was laboured. He was on the verge of a panic attack. He tried to move only to find himself restrained. If he had been paying complete attention when he came to, he would have realised his arms were bound behind his back and that there was a vest strapped to him. A very familiar looking vest. One that had haunted his dreams for many nights after his first meeting with Moriarty. This was really not good. _John what the fuck did you walk into? You promised Sherlock you wouldn't go in alone, but somehow now you were caught. THINK!!!_ The words screamed in his mind and he berated himself for not only leaving Sherlock's side but walking into a trap.

 

He snapped his head up and instantly regretted it, pain shooting through his neck from being immobile for god knows how long. He needed to survey his surroundings though and see what he was dealing with and that's when he knew it was bad. Mary was lying on the floor, not ten feet away from him, motionless in her red coat and scrubs. Thankfully she was facing away from him, a pool of thick, dark liquid surrounding her head like a halo. He could only imagine what she must look like, her wound matching that of the unknown victim Sherlock had been examining when her panicked call had reached him. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the tears, tried taking a few deep breath but failing spectacularly and turning his head to the side to wretch.

 

That's when he heard the voice. ‘Well, well, well. I expected more from the Great Doctor Watson.’ The voice echoing off the tiles. For one brief moment, John thought it was Moriarty but quickly saw it was the Agent entrusted to protect them as the man drew nearer.

 

‘Where's your boss? Doesn't have the nerve to show his face?’ John spat back. 

 

The man simply laughed, ‘Time for you to make a phone call Doctor Watson.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: OFF SCREEN MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH / HEAVY ANGST

Sherlock picked up his phone again, desperate to try at least once more, when the phone started ringing in his hand. John. Finally!

'John!' Sherlock answered, his breath leaving him in relief.  _John was alright. He would come back. He was safe. Mary was safe and John would come back._

 

 

The agent had dialled the number and put the phone on speaker, sitting it on John's lap, making it very clear that he needed to stay still, else the phone would fall to the floor and ruin his chance at one last goodbye. The agent quickly departed the room as the phone began to ring.

_‘John!’_

At the sound of Sherlock’s voice, John closed his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks but he forced himself to keep his voice calm.

‘Sherlock… Seems I've run into a bit of a problem.’

Something inside Sherlock turned cold at the sound of John’s voice. He sounded wrong, so horribly wrong. As if he was fighting the urge to cry out or sob. He sounded like he had done at the moment what Sherlock was going to do, looking up at him on the roof of St Bart’s.

 

There was a strange echo behind John’s voice, as if he was standing in a large bare room.

 

‘John?’ Sherlock held on to the table with one hand. Molly was staring at him, her face pale but Sherlock ignored her. There was no time to reassure her. If John was in danger…

‘What kind of trouble? Mycroft’s men… where are you?!’

 

Sherlock couldn’t hide the urgency in his voice. He needed to know. He needed to do something! 

 

 

‘I think I may be at the pool,’ John answered, ‘and I'm bound to a chair. Definitely can't get out.’

 

He was keeping focused, trying to stay still and calm, more for Sherlock's sake than his own.

 

‘Sherlock...’ his voice dropped to almost a whisper. ’She's dead.’ He couldn't bring himself to say her name. ’It's almost exactly like the warehouse.’

 

 

No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. John had been with him. He had been safe.

 

‘The pool.’

 

That horrible place where he had learnt just how far John Watson had made his way to his heart without him realising. That place where Jim decided he would never leave them alone again. The game. The damnable game which he had played along until it had been too late.

And now Mary had paid the price.

 

‘John, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about Mary… Is he there? Let me talk to him, I’ll get you out, John, I promise.’ He was rambling, grasping at anything, every sliver of hope that might mean John would get out of this alive.

 

Sherlock saw Molly stare at him, pale and ready to fall over, before she moved, grabbing her own phone. But he couldn’t hear who she was calling. All that mattered was John. John’s voice on the other end of the line, still breathing.

 

_Oh God, please, not him. Do not let him take him from me._

John sucked in a breath, losing it now was not an option, he had no idea how long he had and he didn't want to waste his last few precious moments with Sherlock. There were things he needed to say, things Sherlock needed to know and hear so it would carry him through the dark times John knew were head of him.

 

‘No one else is here. I don't think anyone else is coming back. Sherlock I'm sorry. Sorry for being such a fool.’

 

John moved his eyes from the vest he wore. He knew he was wired with explosives and he knew it was just a matter of time before whoever was playing this game handed him his death sentence. ‘There are some...’ a series of beeps caused him to fall silent and his eyes fell to the once darkened screen. ‘Oh God,’ he uttered as he saw the numbers begin to count down.

 

 

'John?’

Sherlock’s heart sank at the sudden defeat in John’s voice, but he still tried to determine what was wrong.

 

_The pool. He is at the pool._

_‘Well this is a turn-up, isn’t it Sherlock? Bet you didn’t see this coming. What would you like me to make him say next.’_

_John, blinking the S.O.S. John, opening his coat, revealing the – No, oh John no it can’t be._

_‘_ Whatis it? What's wrong?!'

 

But he knew. Sherlock knew but he would give everything he had to hear John say that he was wrong.

 

 

‘That um beeping, that... Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,’ he whispered, he could feel the panic rising now. He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself, he needed to stay focused for Sherlock now. ‘It's a timer, and there's not very...’ his voice trailed off. _Don't think about how much time, think about what you need to tell him._

 

‘Sherlock love, I'm sorry. I should have listened to you and stayed by your side like you begged me to. There isn't time for anyone to get here and there's no way I can get out. I'm so very sorry. The only thing I can do now is tell you how much I love you and that I'm very sorry that I didn't listen to you.’

 

This couldn’t be happening. Sherlock refused to believe this was happening.

‘No. John, no, this can’t – I’ll come to you. You hear me, I’ll get you out.’ Sherlock was already moving, gripping tightly to the table still to prevent himself from falling.

‘Molly, tell… anyone.’ Molly nodded breathlessly, clutching the phone in her hands. ‘Tell him, the pool. He’s holding John at the pool where we met Moriarty. Please, you have to get him out. We need to - ’

 

‘Sherlock love you can't. They won't get here in time, no one will. There's barley four minutes left so I want you to listen to me. These past few months that we've had since you've came back were some of the best days of my life and I'm glad that I got to have them because I never thought... ‘

John took a deep, ragged breath and tried not to let tears take over. Sherlock didn't need to hear him crying in the last few moments he had left, he needed to hear him saying how much he loved him.

 

‘I'm glad I got to finally show you, tell you that I love you. I'm just sorry we didn't have longer. We should have had longer, we should have had years to spend together. I should have taken the chance all those years ago. I'm so sorry Sherlock. Just promise me one thing, please...’

 

_Four minutes. Barely four minutes left… this can’t be it! This can’t be the time we have left. I haven’t – I need to –_

‘Don’t you dare give up, John Watson!’ he cried out. ‘You promised me you would come back. You promised!’

The door to the morgue slammed open and when Sherlock turned to look, he saw Mycroft, out of breath and pale, with Lestrade close behind him. ‘What are you doing, you have to go get him, he is at the pool. You have to get him out!’

‘Sherlock…’

‘No, shut up Mycroft. Get. Him. Out!’

_‘Love…’_

‘No, John, you don’t get to do this. I love you and you promised you would come back.’ Sherlock’s throat burned but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he could hardly see their faces through his tears. He didn’t care because _John was dying, he was dying because of his mistakes, because he didn’t check and – oh please God, let him live._

‘Please, John, come back…’

 

‘I wish I could,’ John uttered without thinking. This was hard enough, he shouldn't make it harder by saying things that could never happen again. 

 

He glanced at the display, barely two minutes left. He was determined to give Sherlock a reason to fight, to live after he was gone. He steeled himself and spoke calmly. 

 

‘Sherlock, listen to me. This is all my fault. Promise me you won't blame yourself. You are the best man I have ever known and you made my life so much better.’

 

A flood of memories rushed through his mind - he could hear Sherlock's voice ask him, _‘Yeah, but if you were dying...if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?’_

 

John swallowed thickly, holding back the tears and pictured them together lying on the couch, John singing to him. He briefly wondered if anyone had ever done that for Sherlock before and now no one ever would again. He pictured every stolen look they ever shared between them and knew Sherlock would never find that again with anyone and he knew how lonely Sherlock would go back to being and his only hope was he wouldn't do anything stupid, how he wished he could ask Lestrade to watch out for him to make sure Sherlock didn't do anything reckless because John wouldn't be there to protect him now. But he had one last thing to ask of Sherlock before he said goodbye.

 

‘Don't you ever lose sight of that. You're so much better than he is, don't let him win. Promise me you won't give him that satisfaction. Fight for me, even though I know it's going to hurt like hell, and promise me you will go on living. Promise me that Sherlock. I got through it so I know you can.’

 

John glanced down at the timer. Less than a minute left. 

 

‘And don't you ever forget me....’

 

 

Sherlock let out a tortured sound. He could see the seconds ticking away in his head. He could see John, sitting there, crying, too far away. God, they had been standing right here. Their last kiss had been right here, yards away from where they first met.

 

‘You saved me, John. I love you. I will never stop loving you and I’ll kill him. I don’t care what will happen to me.’

 

Sherlock’s hands were shaking but he managed to keep his phone pressed to his ear.

 

‘I’ll kill him if he dares to harm one hair on your head. You have to get out John, please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me behind, I beg you. I love you, John. John, I love you, can you hear me? I love you so much.’

 

 

But Sherlock's last pleas went unheard and there was no comfort for John to give because the line had gone dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: HEAVY ANGST, GRIEF/MOURNING SHERLOCK

Mycroft had never seen Sherlock like this. His baby brother slouched into himself, phone pressed to his ear, eyes squeezed shut, begging for John to answer him. Everyone in the room was silent out of respect for Sherlock. No one quite knew what to do.

Lestrade stayed where he was, alternating looks between Sherlock and Mycroft, wondering why Mycroft wasn't on the phone directing his men to descend on the pool. Logically he knew there was no hope of getting there on time, but to see Mycroft inactive about anything was a strange sight.

 

And Mycroft, for a man who always had a plan, there wasn't a single thing he could do to prevent this. To prevent the hurt and the pain that his brother was going to suffer. He had failed his baby brother in the worst way possible, for this, THIS was worse than death. He had let John Watson fall and that would never be forgiven. There would be no way to make it up to Sherlock, now way to ever make it right. And that is why Mycroft stood there motionless, waiting.

 

Then there was Molly, who was closest to Sherlock and as much as she wanted to close the distance and comfort him, she knew it was an unwise gesture so she stayed where she was. Not that he would ever purposely hurt her, but she knew he would lash out at everyone as soon as he pulled himself together and locked all the newly displayed emotions away forever.

 

The silence in the lab was broken by Mycroft's phone ringing. Sherlock lifted his head, his eyes rimmed in red to watch Mycroft answer and receive conformation.

 

‘Yes, I understand.’ Mycroft replied softly into the device and then disconnected. His eyes never leaving Sherlock. ’Sherlock, I'm so sorry. The explosion has mostly levelled the pool. There's very little...’

 

 

‘No.’

The word was ripped out of Sherlock’s throat as he took in the meaning of what Mycroft was saying. No, this had to be a trick. A scheme. This couldn’t be real. John couldn’t be –

Sherlock lifted the phone to his ear again, but only the silence greeted him.

 

_Nothing but silence. John would speak to him, he would make the silence go away if he could. He always did. John… oh God, John, you can’t be dead, it is a trick, it has to be, please let it be a trick. Another one of his games._

‘Sherlock…’

 

The phone clattered to the ground as Sherlock swayed on his feet. Mycroft moved forward, ready to catch him if the need should arise, but the sight of his brother, the man he had entrusted with John’s safety during his time away, come any closer to him, made something dark and ugly churn in his stomach.

 

‘Shut up,’ he hissed.

 

Molly clasped her hand in front of her mouth at the sound of Sherlock’s voice and Greg moved closer to Mycroft on instinct. Sherlock didn’t even saw it.

 

_John is dead. He is gone. Gone. Gone. Gone forever. I’ll kill him. I’ll press that gun into his mouth and I’ll pull the trigger over and over and over again until there is not a part left of his brain. He killed John. John. John._

‘You didn’t check…’ Sherlock breathed out, not breaking the eye contact he had with his brother. ‘He got away because you – because we didn’t… I asked you to keep him safe. You promised me you would.’

 

‘Sherlock, I’m s – ’

 

‘SHUT. UP!’

Sherlock’s fist flew and connected with Mycroft’s jaw before Greg could stop him. Mycroft toppled backwards, his hand grabbing Sherlock’s wrists as he followed him to the floor. Sherlock kept screaming at him to shut up, blaming him, calling him every name he could think of. He kept trying to hit Mycroft even as his wrists were being held and his shoulders were being grabbed by Greg, but nothing hurt as much as the look in Sherlock’s eyes.

 

‘Sherlock… Sherlock, I’m sorry.’

 

‘No! No! Let me go! It’s his fault, John’s dead and it’s his fault!’

 

‘William…’

 

Sherlock completely sagged on top of Mycroft at that name, burying his head against his chest. And he cried.

Sherlock felt his body wreck itself apart, over and over again, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop.

 

_My fault. My fault… oh John, this is all my fault._

 

 

Mycroft saw it coming and it never occurred to him to move or try to stop Sherlock. In fact, he deserved every bit of Sherlock's rage right now. Best to let Sherlock to take it out on him than alienate his friends that were present. They would be far more valuable to Sherlock in terms of helping him cope than Mycroft would ever be, and besides, it's not like this would drive him away from Sherlock, he would still be there in the end when Sherlock would need him, just like he always was. But Sherlock was right, it was his fault and he did deserve every ounce of anger directed at him in this moment.

 

Very few things affected Mycroft Holmes on a personal level. In fact that only thing that did was Sherlock. He cared far more for Sherlock than himself even, and had gone to great lengths to prove it, and look where that had gotten him. This exact moment in time when the worst thing to happen to Sherlock did happen. The death of John Watson. The one thing he had been trying to prevent that day at St. Bart's. He had tried talking Sherlock into another way, but Sherlock would hear none of it and in the end he acquiesced to appease Sherlock. Sherlock had been so sure his plan would work and it had for a while but at great cost to them all. It had put John through hell and while he kept tabs on John, it was painfully clear now that he hadn't done enough. Hadn't protected either of them good enough. He should have done more and now he was the cause of his baby brother's anguish. One he knew Sherlock would never get over.

 

He let Sherlock hit him. He let Sherlock yell and kick and scream, and while Lestrade had come to his aid and tried to pull Sherlock away, Mycroft waved him off. He appreciated Lestrade's gesture but he had seen Sherlock in a state such as this several times before and it didn't scare him, he could handle it. He would take the blame and the contempt and the anger, all of it because he deserved it. He found what he couldn't handle though were the feelings of guilt that were starting to tinge his insides. He had let Sherlock down and had let John down and while he would never admit it out loud, he liked John because John had done something not many others had ever done. He loved Sherlock. Truly loved him, He had done what no one else could - he pulled him back from the edge when he came back from the dead, even though he had moved on with his own life and was in the midst of starting a new life - a calmer, more stable life and he gave that all up for Sherlock. So he let Sherlock direct all his rage at him until it was time to move on. He let Sherlock push at him and scratch at him and hit him until he saw the pain well in his eyes and that when Mycroft knew it was time to move on to the next stage.

 

‘William...’ was all it took to pull Sherlock out of his rage and into tears. As Sherlock sagged into Mycroft's body, Mycroft did what he had always done at this point, he simply wrapped his arms around his little brother and held him. He offered no words, because he knew that none could ever lessen the hurt he had caused him but he made a silent promise. He would use all of his power to do whatever Sherlock needed to find the person responsible for this and he would let Sherlock dish out whatever punishment he deemed necessary and Mycroft would make sure no punishment would come Sherlock's way. Then once that was done, he would spend the rest of his days trying to make things right between them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please do not give up on this story. We're not done! And as always, we feed off of your comments and kudos.
> 
> **IMPORTANT EDIT**
> 
> It was never our intention to trick anyone into reading. As I said, this story is still evolving and growing and we didn't decide that this was going to happen until very late in the process.
> 
> We would like to apologise to every single one of you who feels betrayed, triggered or otherwise affected by what has happened and we tried to update the tags as much as possible without giving away spoilers.
> 
> Again though, give us time and a few chapters. You never know what might happen next...


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Cally Pool explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was never our intention to trick anyone into reading. As I said, this story is still evolving and growing and we didn't decide that this was going to happen until very late in the process.
> 
> We would like to apologise to every single one of you who feels betrayed, triggered or otherwise affected by what has happened and we tried to update the tags as much as possible without giving away spoilers.
> 
> Again though, give us time and a few chapters. You never know what might happen next...

_‘This just in: a massive explosion in Cally Pool, Barnsbury London this evening. Officials can’t comment on any casualties but the swimming pool was closed for the day due to renovations. The Cally Pool in the same pool where the famous London detective Sherlock Holmes, who committed suicide two years ago, met Jim Moriarty for the first time. Due to his recent return, speculation have already begun as to whether this is related to the broadcast earlier today. We will continue to update you as we receive more information.’_

Martha Hudson wasn’t a superstitious woman. She didn’t believe in fate and higher plans. But this…

After the shock they had all received that morning, this felt too much of a coincidence. Both Sherlock and John were away and she hadn’t heard as much as a peep from either of them.

 

That pool. Oh, her boys had been riddled with nightmares for weeks after that although neither of them would admit it. Sherlock gave quite the number of night time concertos and poor John had looked an absolute mess every single morning when she came up for tea.

She knew something had happened at that same pool today or so help her, she would sign herself into a mental hospital.

 

But it wasn’t until the man left with her by Mr Holmes, suddenly darted to the front door to open it and a black car stopped in front of the house with screaming tires, that she knew her suspicions had been correct. Something had happened, she thought to herself as she made her way down the stairs as quickly as she could.

 

Mr Holmes was there, as well as the good DI Lestrade and doctor Hooper from the hospital and the two men of the small group were practically carrying the tall but nearly unresponsive shape of her Sherlock.

 

No John.

 

Something horrible had happened. 

 

 

Mrs Hudson quietly followed the procession up the stairs. She knew better than to demand answers. In fact she was mostly sure she didn't want the answers she knew someone would eventually give her. That by some sick, twist stroke of fate, John Watson was no longer alive, and that was a truth she wasn't willing to accept yet, even though she knew it the moment she caught sight of Sherlock.

 

She hovered by the door as she watched two agents deposit the grief stricken man on the sofa. She watched as it took what seem to be all his energy to turn to his side and curl in on himself, his back towards everyone in the room. It was clear he wanted to be alone but it was also clear that no one present was going to give him that option, so they all stood silently trying not to let their gazes fall on the man whose body shook as he quietly sobbed on the sofa..

 

Mrs Hudson would have none of this. She knew Sherlock wasn't one for displays of any kind of emotion but if he thought for one moment that she wouldn't do her best to try and console him, then no one in this room knew a thing about Martha Hudson. She began with furtive steps, trying not to bring much attention to herself since everyone seemed to be stuck in their heads. Good, then maybe no one would try and stop her. Mycroft had noticed and advanced a step towards her but she glared at him. It was a challenge, one that said try and keep me from my dear, sweet boy when he so desperately needs someone, even if he thinks he doesn't need it or want it. He stepped back and his expression softened. It wouldn't hurt for her to try he realised. The worse he would do is ignore her.

 

She made it to his side and stood there, allowing him to get used to her presence. She knew how to deal with a hurt Sherlock. She had done it many times before. She had been there when no one else had - on those nights he felt like a failure because he couldn't figure out the missing piece to solve a case, or the nights he and John would fight and John would leave the flat for one of his famous cooling off walks, and even those times when he couldn't persuade John to stay at home with him instead of going on one of his silly dates. She had been there to comfort him and reassure him that everything would be alright. She wasn't about to let him down now - though she knew nothing was ever going to be right again for him, not even after he got his vengeance which she knew he would. But she would be there for him, she would be there to take care of him because that would be her job again, just as it was before John.

 

She sat down in the little space that was left just by his head and she placed a hand on his shoulder softly as to not startle him. Everyone was watching them now, not quite sure what to expect. Until they heard the rustle of fabric and witnessed a flurry of movements as Sherlock turned as wrapped his arms around her waist and just let it all out. His body quaking as he drew in ragged breaths between sobs and all he could utter was ‘he's gone.’ 

 

‘Shhh, dear. I know.’ was all she could say as she rubbed a hand over his back. She didn't try to tell him it would be ok or that they would all help him get through this or that they all knew the pain he felt. She wouldn't insult him like that. She knew none of them of them could adequately quantify it. Of course she had been lucky enough to catch glimpses of it over these last few weeks and she had been elated for them and she knew this would tear him apart and eat at him for the rest of his days if he survived finding whoever was responsible.

 

 

_My fault… My fault… John is dead… My fault… John… I’m sorry… Please, John… please come back… please forgive me…_

Over and over and over again did the words repeat themselves in Sherlock’s mind and no matter where to turned to in his mind palace, there was no escaping them.

They were written in blood – John’s blood – on the walls, on the floors and ceilings. Every door was locked to him and every time he tried to open one, the words were screamed at him. Sometimes it was his own voice, sometimes it was John’s –  _Oh God, John, please, I’m sorry, I tried –_ but always, there was Jim’s voice, floating above the rest, taunting him. Threatening him.

 

_‘Your friends will die if you don’t…’_

He should have died. He should have fell from that roof. John would have made it through. He would have been happy with Mary. He would have been safe.

 

It wasn’t until he felt the soft gently touch of Mrs Hudson that he realised he was back home at Baker Street –  _empty, no more John, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone –_ and he turned to her, desperate for her mothering comfort.

 

‘Shh, dear. I know,’ she muttered to him and Sherlock felt the sobs being torn from his body as her hand stroked his back. He buried his head against her, hiding himself away from the room.

 

_My fault…_

 

 

Mrs Hudson looked over towards Mycroft and Lestrade who were conversing quietly in the corner.

 

‘Look, I know you don't have much faith in NSY, but I can assure you....’

 

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and regarded Lestrade for a moment. He rose his hand to quiet Lestrade. ’I have no qualms with you DI, you have done much for my brother where everyone else had failed,’ Mycroft answered, glancing back over to where Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa, sobbing into his landlady's lap.

 

‘It's just that I don't think it's necessary...’

 

‘Hmmm?’ Mycroft turned his attention back to Lestrade. He could tell by Lestrade's posture that he was willing to fight for control of the scene, so he decided to put all his fears to rest. ’Look, I have no intention of swooping in and barring you from the pool. In fact I was rather hoping you would lead it up for me, however unwanted, my place is here.’

 

Lestrade grinned, he knew that Mycroft would not make this decision lightly. ’Thank you. And I'm sure he didn't mean... it was the grief talking.’

 

‘Yes.’ was all Mycroft answered. ’Lestrade, my brother puts a great deal trust in you whether you know it or not, I know you won't fail him.’

 

‘I guess I should be going then, I just wanted to make sure he was... well not by himself before I left.’

 

‘Yes, Oh and here,’ He offered a card with several numbers. ’This is contact information for myself and Anthea, my PA, should you need anything, do not hesitate to call. Anthea is working on keeping as much as she can out of the news at the moment, people are still not aware that Sherlock is alive. This would be the worst possible way for that to come to light considering you have yet to notify John's sister.’

 

Lestrade looked at the card astounded. It was great responsibility to be holding this information in his hand and not one he planned on taking lightly. He frowned slightly when he thought of the visit he'd have to make to John's sister's place, but he planned on keeping that fact from the media as long as possible.

 

 

Her mother always made tea when tears were flowing. She always had a pot ready when dad was dying. Always. Tea would help, she had said.

Now though, Molly understood what her mother had meant by that. It didn’t just provide warmth and a little bit of comfort but it was a means to keep her own hands busy. A way to do something when there was nothing to be done.

 

Tea would help.

 

John once made a lovely brew for her one night when they were working late on one of Sherlock’s cases.

 

 

Molly nearly dropped the kettle. Her hands were shaking and it was only when a quiet sob escaped her that she realised she had been crying. It was all just so unfair!

 

Greg had been preparing to leave but wanted a word with Molly before he left. He had found her in the kitchen trying to make tea. At first he had thought it nice, but now he saw she was just trying to keep herself busy and maybe have a few moments to herself. He had been about to leave when she softly cried out, lamenting how this situation was wrong and how everything they had done was all for naught.

 

‘Molly?’

 

Greg was standing behind her, having seen her distress and she let out a deep breath. ‘I’m alright,’ she muttered. ‘I just…’ Molly closed her eyes, shaking her head. ‘This wasn’t – Sherlock faked his death for him and it has been for nothing and I can’t – ’

‘Shh, Molly, we’ll get him, okay?’

Greg’s warm hand settled on her shoulder and without thinking she turned around and buried her face in his shoulder. She cried, silently and Greg stayed with her, holding her through it until her sobs subsided. 

 

‘Molly, it wasn't for nothing. We both saw earlier what they had, what they got to share before....’ He let his voice trail, maybe not the right thing to say just then he thought to himself, sometimes he wasn't really too good with words. He cleared his throat and tried to think of something more appropriate to say when he felt her sobs receding. He looked down at her as she looked up at him.

 

‘I promise you, I will do everything in my power to find him and make him pay.’

 

‘I know you will and that's what worries me. John was supposed to be safe and look what happened. None of us are safe. This is war.’

 

‘I’ll be careful, okay?’ Greg tried to reassure Molly. ‘I’m not alone, my officers will be close. Donovan won’t let me out of her sight. If I see anyone I don’t know, I’ll call Mycroft personally.’

 

Molly turned her head to Mycroft, who nodded to her and although it didn’t make her feel much better, at least they wouldn’t be caught by surprise anymore. When John had been taken, none of them had even been sure if Jim was really alive and what was going on.

 

Molly took a deep breath and stepped away from Greg, wiping the tears of her face. ‘Okay. Just be careful and… bring them home.’

 

Greg swallowed, trying not to think about what he might find at the pool but he nodded, squeezing Molly’s shoulders briefly before turning and leaving the flat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; we feed off of your kudos and comments !
> 
> Note: We just picked a random swimming pool in London since the name of the pool in The Great Game is never specified.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for the bodies

Greg had witnessed many things in his time on the force, but he hadn't been prepared for the raw destruction when he arrived at what used to be Cally Pool. He stood there, rooted to the spot until Donovan came over and dragged him to what the trailer they were using as a makeshift command centre.

 

He was impressed to see the progress they had made so far, but had wanted to call all the workers in for a quick briefing. He wanted to make sure they were all on the same page. The rules were simple. Take your time, go section by section. Treat everything as evidence and work in pairs. Never go way here alone. And nothing, absolutely NOTHING gets said to the press. Any leaks and the person responsible would face dire consequences, not only from NSY, but also the British government itself. 

 

They had been at the fifty three hour mark when they came across the first body. It had been Mary's. The workers immediately halted everything and went to find Lestrade.

 

 

 

Mrs Hudson was worried. Immensely so and she knew she wasn’t alone in her worrying. Mr Holmes never left Baker Street apart from one night where Mrs Hudson had insisted he go home and have some sleep and that sweet Molly Hooper came by every day after work.

DI Lestrade checked in as often as he could, informing them that there had been no progress – from what Mrs Hudson had seen on the TV, the site where the pool once was looked akin to a warzone but none of these things seemed to register with Sherlock.

 

He simply stayed in his room, face buried in the pillows, breathing in the smell that lingered on the fabric. He wouldn’t eat nor sleep and no matter what Mrs Hudson tried, she couldn’t get him to move. It was as if the life had been sucked clean out of him. A puppet with its strings cut. A shell. Nothing appeared to be left of the marvellous brilliant boy who had appeared on her doorstep only a few months ago.

Sherlock didn’t seem to mind her presence though, so she stayed close to him, often sitting down next to him as he stared with dull eyes to the opposing wall.

 

As she was doing at the moment Mycroft’s phone rang in the other room and Mycroft’s hushed voice informed her it was the DI who was calling. 

 

 

Everything came to a standstill as Lestrade surveyed the scene and gave new instructions. He had called in the specialists that Mycroft had sent over for the exact moment they found the bodies. Well, one body, the other couldn't be too far behind. He conferred with the specialists and decided to halt with the removal of the bigger pieces of debris while they focused on extricating the female body. Once they were through with that, they would discuss pin pointing John's location.

 

In the meantime, he called Mycroft to update him on their find and inquire about Sherlock. He wasn't surprised to find out there had been no discernible change in the detective and it saddened him. He knew that would change though when they found John's body. He knew Sherlock would insist on being permitted not only on the scene, but would probably insist on being the only allowed to handle the doctor's body. He decided to use these few moments to voice his concern to Mycroft.

 

‘Before I head back to the sight, I was wonder if I could have a few extra moments. I have some concerns.’

 

‘As do I’ Mycroft stated briskly. ‘Do continue.’

 

‘Well, I've been thinking if you've given thought to what you might do once we discover John's body. Sherlock will....’

 

Mycroft cut him off. ‘My brother will have complete latitude to do as he wishes as I don't think anyone would be able to stop him from what he thinks he wants or needs, but I assure you, he will be accompanied at all times as not to contaminate or compromise the integrity of the scene. You and I both know however, that point is moot because if he finds the person accountable, well, we all know how that will end.’

 

‘Right, sorry to have troubled you. I have no problems with that. I guess I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.’

 

 

As Mycroft's voice drifted into the bedroom, Sherlock stirred. His gaze became more focused and slowly and he pushed himself up as Mycroft concluded the phone call in the other room. 

 

Without saying a word he wandered into the kitchen and met Mycroft's gaze. 

 

'They found a female body amidst the rubble,' Mycroft told him. Sherlock let out a trembling breath.

 

Mary. 

 

John had been able to see Mary when he... He would be close. After hours, days, or searching, they were close. 

 

'Once they find -'

 

'Don't.' Sherlock's voice sounded raw and Mycroft immediately held his tongue. Any mention of John had been abruptly cut off. Not even his name was allowed to be spoken near Sherlock.

 

'They will be brought to Bart's. Dr Hooper will perform the autopsy. If you want - '

 

'I want to see him.'

 

Mrs Hudson stood behind Sherlock and regarded him with surprise. 'Sherlock, dear, do you think...'

 

'I want to see him.' 

 

Mycroft nodded at Sherlock's firm demand. 'As you wish.'

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, we feed off of your comments and kudos. 
> 
> Keep holding on!


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternating between Sherlock's and Greg's POV

It was still slow going and took seven more hours to completely extricate Mary from the wreckage. The specialists and Lestrade once again surveyed her position and came up with two possibilities for John's likely location. Lestrade split them into two teams and sent them to work and then retired to the command centre to leave some instructions. He needed to leave and get some rest himself since they were close. He knew Sherlock would not tolerate any sluggishness or mistakes once they found John and he couldn't remember the last time he slept so know seemed like the logical choice. In any event, they could beep him or call him if they ran into any trouble. Once everything was arranged, he headed home.

 

The first thing he did was strip out of his ruined, dust covered and ripped suit and took a quick shower. He almost didn't make it to the bed before passing out. Thank god he had work to keep his mind busy, he didn't know how Sherlock was coping. Then it occurred to him, he wasn't. They would need to find something for him after this was the last thought that passed through his conscious mind before sleep drug him under.

 

 

Sherlock waited. They all did. 

 

Mycroft busied himself with his phone, no doubt relaying his instructions to his minions regarding the bomb sight - Sherlock could vaguely recall Mycroft making a mention that Lestrade had headed home, with surveillance obviously, for some well-earned rest - and Mrs Hudson occupied herself in the kitchen although she was not really doing much. Keeping her hands busy most probably. 

 

Sherlock however, sat in his chair, his phone clasped in his hands, staring at the empty red armchair in front of him. He had no idea how long they sat there, waiting for news, but when Sherlock's phone chimed.

 

Sherlock didn't see how Mrs Hudson exited the kitchen as fast as her bad hip could manage it nor how Mycroft immediately rose from the chair at the dining table. 

'Sherlock...' he started, but Sherlock didn't hear him. He knew this wasn't Lestrade - all communications had gone through Mycroft, never to him directly. 

 

_Perhaps John got out, maybe he is... he could have escaped, he could survived!_

 

Sherlock's hand trembled as he opened the phone to look at the message he had received. 

 

_Johnny boy was becoming too much of a distraction, Sherlock. Now, shall we finish the game? x_

 

 

The incessant ringing finally broke through the haze of Lestrade's sleep and he made a desperate grasp for the phone on the nightstand. He blearily peeked at the screen noticing the number. It was showtime. They must have found the body if Anthea was ringing him. He glanced at the digital clock on the table, four hours had passed, not as much time as he had hoped for but he'd take it.

 

‘Yes?’ he answered, voice gritty from sleep.

 

Anthea's terse voice filled the line, ‘We've located Doctor Watson's body and are now transporting both to Bart's. Doctor Hooper is already there and waiting and I've alerted Mr. Holmes, so I imagine both he and Sherlock are on their way.’

 

‘Right, I'll be there in twenty. One quick question before I go if I may.’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘How bad is....’

 

‘Not something Sherlock should view even though I know there is little chance of that occurring.’

 

 

Sherlock almost missed the ringing of Mycroft's phone. He was still staring at his phone, hearing Moriarty's voice over and over again, repeating the words that flashed on the screen. His hands were trembling. His stomach tied itself into knots and for the first time since he last heard John's voice over the phone, he felt something else apart from the crippling pain and guilt. 

 

Anger. 

 

It settled deep inside him, a desire to find Moriarty and rip him apart with him bare hands. A need to strip the skin of his bones and burn him, to watch and listen to the screams that would evoke. He would destroy him, Sherlock vowed. He would make this right even if it would kill him. He would make Jim Moriarty pay for daring to touch John and take him away. He would fix this and Sherlock knew in that moment that it would be the last thing he'd ever do. 

 

'Sherlock.'

 

Mycroft placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to make him listen and Sherlock shot up from his chair, clutching the phone hard enough to make it hurt. 'Sherlock, they found him.'

 

'Show me.'

 

 

On the way over, Donovan had called him and filled him in on how and where they had found John's body and that they would continue with the excavation looking for clues, they wouldn't leave a single stone unturned. Lestrade thanked her and left it at that, there really wasn't much left to say on the matter, they all knew how important this one and he knew no matter their feelings on Sherlock, they would all do their very best to bet justice for John Watson.

 

Somehow, they manage to converge at Bart's at the same time. The ride on they elevator was silent as they rode to the morgue. Anthea's words rang in Lestrade's mind and he kept stealing furtive glances at Sherlock who seemed partly back to his old self. Of course that was logical. He had something to focus his anger on, something to devote himeslef to, though once this was finished, Lestrade worried what would become of him.

 

When they pushed through the doors of the morgue, it was silent. Molly stood in front of one of the examination tables giving the body that still resided in the open bag a once over. Lestrade could tell it was Mary as he caught a glimpse of her red coat. That was odd, but not unlikely and he quickly dismissed the thought as Sherlock strode to the table that held the body of John Watson.

 

 

Sherlock barely glanced at Mary's body when he entered the morgue. He could see the hint of the red coat and the mark of a bullet wound on her forehead, almost hidden amidst the burn, but his mind was already moving to John.

 

John, who was in that bag. Burned. Broken. Dead. 

John, who would never make him tea, or kiss his brow, or touch his skin. John, who would never again utter the words 'I love you' in his ear. 

 

'Open it,' he muttered with a ragged voice, his gaze directed to where John's head would be. Sherlock gripped the side of the table to prevent his knees from giving out under him. He could all their eyes focused on him but nobody moved. 

He looked up. 'I want to see him.'

 

Molly was the one who dared to speak up. 'Sherlock, I don't think - '

 

'He had a Semtex vest strapped to his torso and he had the weight of a concrete building crushing him for hours. I  _know_ what he looks like and I want to see him!' Sherlock was near shouting. He could feel his eyes burning but he didn't care. He needed to see him. One more time. 

 

 

Molly stood frozen, not able to make her fingers work, looking to Mycroft and Lestrade for help. She couldn't understand why Sherlock would want to do this to himself. In fact she had started with Mary because it was impersonal and she knew she would have a hard time when it came to John, plus she knew she should wait for Sherlock.

 

Lestrade stepped forward, ‘here, let me.’ Though it wasn't something he was very keen on doing either.

 

He grabbed the bag in one hand and the zip in the other and tugged, and what they were greeted with defied all explanation. 

 

There lied John's body, mostly intact though thoroughly charred. Definitely the same outfit he had been wearing the last time Lestrade had seen him, but this couldn't be right. There shouldn't be this much left. This was all wrong. This wasn't how it was the last time Moriarty had played this game and he remembered that body very well. It had given him nightmares for months.

 

‘Sherlock, this...’ he began looking up at the detective.

 

 

'Shut up,’ Sherlock snarled and Greg backed away a little, giving him some room.  

 

This couldn’t be John. Not his John, who was larger than life. Those burnt fingers could not have been the same ones as the ones who touched his hands in goodbye right here in this very room. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be, not his John.

 

He had hoped, somewhere, secretly, hidden from even his own view, that is had been a trick. One of Moriarty’s sick mind games. A way of toying with him. But now…

 

They were supposed to die old, together, with grey hairs and wrinkles and John would have worn glasses and his own fingers would no longer be flexible enough to play the violin but they’d be happy and this could not be it!

 

The clothing was burned to the skin in some places and singed on other. Still recognisable. John’s shirt. John’s trousers. John’s shoes. No vest.

 

Had John felt it? Had he kept his eyes on that timer, watching the seconds of his life tick away? Had he suffered? The mere thought of John screaming out in pain as the fire consumed him was nearly too much and he couldn’t stop the sob from escaping his chest.

 

He was gone. His John was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; we feed off of your comments and kudos.
> 
> Not long now...


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV at the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE CARE; TWO CHAPTERS POSTED TODAY. MAKE SURE YOU READ CHAPTER 45 FIRST!

 

 

  
_'You saved me, John. I love....’_  was the last thing John had heard Sherlock wail before the line died.

 

 

‘No! Sherlock, I love you, god, this can't,’ John glanced down at the timer, even through the tears he could see there were thirty seconds left. ’No we had more time damn it!’ he roared into the empty room,

 

Fifteen seconds now and he screwed his eyes shut and waited, waited for the inescapable explosion and then nothing, but nothing happened. Then far off in the distance, he heard an explosion and the multitude of sirens followed shortly after.

John lifted his head and blinked his eyes free of tears and looked at the display. It was flashing zeros across it. This whole setting, it was a trick, a ruse and _oh. Oh God, Sherlock_. Sherlock probably thought he was dead.

 

John began to wriggle in his chair, not needing to mind the phone any longer. It made a loud clatter that seemed to echo forever as it made contact with the tiles. No matter how he seemed to move, he couldn't find a weakness in his binds. 

 

 

That's when he heard it. The clapping and a high feminine voice laughing. ’Oh that was brilliant. Quite the performance John. I was nearly moved myself.’

 

 

 

No this was… this couldn’t be…

John shook his head, convinced that this was nothing more than his mind playing tricks at him. Because that voice… John had heard it so often. He had loved it once to hear her giggle at QI. That voice had soothed nightmares, cried out in ecstasy because of him, had laughed and conspired with him.

It couldn’t be real!

 

 

‘Well, I think that should do the trick in convincing him you're really dead. Well that, and the bodies they'll find, of course.’

 

 

John’s eyes fell back to the form that had been lying not ten feet from him the entire time. The sound of snapping fingers echoed through the pool and suddenly all the lights jumped on at once, nearly blinding him.

 

 

  
‘Did you really think I would let you go that easy?’ Mary inquired as she pushed herself away from the blood stained tiles turning to face him. John blinked, trying to get adjusted to the sudden bright lights –  _different tiles, not the same as that pool… oh God, I’ve been tricked_  – and he stared in horror as he took in Mary’s appearance. The side of her face streaked with fake blood, only adding to the macabre smile twisting her face now. Her posture had changed, more confident, arrogant and there was a glint in her eyes that reminded John too much of Moriarty.

  
’Did you  _honestly_  think I would let him have his prize without a fight to the death?’ She snarled at him. Her grin had twisted into something dark. ‘Oh no. This game is far from over.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams forever*
> 
> You didn't honestly think we'd kill off John, did you?! We would never do that to our boys, but we had to keep the suspense real. Isn't the relief so much sweeter now?


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins.

‘Sherlock…’ 

Greg had to try it again. With Sherlock coming apart at the seams and with his obvious intent voiced towards his brother, he had to try. Sherlock didn’t see it and frankly, Greg doubted himself. What if he was wrong? What if he would make him hope only for it to be crashed down again?

But it wouldn’t let him go. ‘His clothes.’ Greg felt the eyes of Molly and Mycroft turn to him; Sherlock didn’t seem to hear him. 

‘Inspector?’

‘Sherlock… he said that John was wearing the vest.’ 

At this Sherlock raised his head and regarded Greg with an intensity that would have frightened him if he hadn’t known Sherlock for as long as he had. ‘His clothes… I’ve seen that lady. That old lady back when Moriarty… you know. There was almost nothing to be found. The blast had…’ He didn’t have to finish that sentence. Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath and moved closer to the bodies on the slabs and Molly’s eyes grew wide. She too remembered, Greg knew. 

But it was Sherlock’s eyes that would stick with Greg for the rest of his life. Something sharpened in them and when he looked back down at the supposed body of John Watson, Greg could practically see the pieces clicking together in his mind. And with each passing second the strength seemed to come back to him. A sense of determination settled into his limbs and when he looked back up again, Greg felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. He was right. He was fucking right and they knew it! 

‘Molly…’ Sherlock rasped out. ‘Check the dental work. On both of them.’ 

‘Right,' Molly breathed out, visibly in shock. 'I’ll just go start the request process for both sets of records.’ She quickly turned and started for her laptop.

‘I don’t believe that will be necessary,’ Mycroft interrupted, ‘We have them on file, well John’s at least. We anticipated this and thought it prudent to have the information ready. You should find the copy in your email already.’

‘Thank you. I wish I had you around all the time to cut through the red tape.’ Molly said to herself, firing up the laptop. 

 

Sherlock glared at Mycroft’s admission. Mycroft held his hands up. ’Sherlock, I’ve had all of John’s files at my disposal the day he moved into Baker Street.’

Sherlock and Lestrade were both watching Mycroft now, waiting for him to answer the question left hanging in the air.

‘Well?’ Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow as if to ask what?

‘What about Mary’s? Don’t tell me you have no information on her.’

‘Actually, it’s been a challenge to find anything on Miss Morstan.’ Mycroft tried to pass off nonchalantly.

‘How can you not have anything on her?’ Sherlock all but screamed. Lestrade caught Sherlock this time before he managed to get his hands on Mycroft this time. He pulled him back several feet but didn’t let go off him. ’Now I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, isn’t there Mycroft?’

 

Mycroft nodded briefly to Greg.

‘Indeed,’ he relented. ‘There is very little to find to be completely honest. Some basic information regarding her education, parents, but other than that – not much. We didn’t deem her important enough to scan completely and after she broke it off with dr. Watson…’

Sherlock took a deep breath. It might be nothing. It might be everything.  
He looked back to the two bodies, his eye settling on the man. Sherlock couldn’t call him John anymore. Not when there still was a chance, no matter how slim, that he – they – were still alive.

John. He had been convinced he was dying when they were on the phone. He had said his goodbyes while he might still be alive. After days of searching for bodies that might not even be theirs.

Moriarty was playing a game with John as much as he did with Sherlock.  
And Sherlock would put a stop to it.

‘Alright…’ he breathed out. ‘Molly, check the identities of these bodies. If that is not John…’ Sherlock trailed off. God, the thought that John was still alive somewhere, in the hands of that madman didn’t do anything to comfort him. ‘If that is not John, than chances are that is not Mary either. And you – ’ Sherlock turned to Mycroft with a snarl. ‘ – get everything you can find on Mary Morstan. If she is somehow involved with this… She called him and he left to help her. Everything Mycroft, every scrap, every whisper. I need to know!’ 

 

Lestrade had left the morgue and set out to track down anyone who knew Mary well. He would start at the clinic and move on from there. He would have ideally started with her family, but it appeared she had none, so the clinic it was. That left Mycroft, Sherlock and Molly in the lab, all the guards had been posted at the elevators on the floor of the morgue. Mycroft had placed them there for Sherlock’s privacy when identifying John’s body and then found no reason to call them inside the lab once they had made their new found discovery.

Confirming the identity of John’s body had been no easy task. At first the digital records had appeared to match and confirm that this was indeed the body of John Watson, but it didn’t feel right, not anymore. Molly lifted her head and looked to Mycroft.

‘I want the original hard copies. I assume you have them somewhere safe.’

He smiled and nodded. He liked her tenacity. When Sherlock had chosen her to help with the Lazarus plan, Mycroft had been reluctant to include her, but now he saw why Sherlock fought to include her. She was unassuming at first glance, but she would do whatever necessary to carry things out.

‘Yes. They are in my office, secured in my safe. In fact, they haven’t seen the light of day since the day I received them and I am the only one that holds the combination.’

‘Go get them.’ Sherlock snapped, and don’t let anyone know that’s what you are retrieving, seems we have a mole.’ He looked up from Molly’s laptop. ’Someone was sloppy when they tampered with this email.’ he replied, referring to the dental records. ’That, or they want to be caught.’ he muttered to himself.

 

Molly and Mycroft exchanged a look before the elder Holmes left the morgue, leaving Molly alone with Sherlock. 

She watched him for a moment. Life seemed to have rushed back into him again, making him focused and driven - though Molly noted he would not look at the male body for any longer than he absolutely needed to. Doubt was still clinging on to him and Molly couldn’t blame him. The idea that they had all been fooled so thoroughly and that John was alive somewhere in the hands of that… that psychopath, chilled her to the bone.

‘Have you ever seen her?’

Sherlock’s deep voice seemed oddly quiet after all the chaos from before and he kept his eyes fixed on the screen. Molly shook her head. ‘Never. John and I… we didn’t talk much after… you know. I didn’t even know he was dating until Greg told me. Why do you - ’

'No reason, never mind.’

Before, Molly would have heeded his harsh tone and continued with her work. Not this time though. 'Do you think it’s her? That Mary might have - ’

'I don’t know,’ Sherlock sighed, running his hands through his hair. 'None of this is as it should be. An hour ago I was convinced that John was…’ Sherlock closed his eyes for a second, collecting himself. 'If he’s alive, then I need to examine every single possibility and she… she knew I was alive, Molly. But she was going to marry him! It makes no sense, I met her and she wasn’t - and Moriarty…’

Molly could see it; Sherlock was losing himself in the onslaught of information. He couldn’t see it. John’s death - or disappearance - had rattled him and he had lost every sense of clarity. 'Sherlock, stop! Deep breath. What do you  _know_? What are the facts, isn’t that what you always said? Focus on the facts not the assumptions. We will all help you, Sherlock. You don’t have to do this alone.’

Sherlock looked up at her with wide eyes and his face softened in gratitude. 

 When Lestrade arrived at the clinic, he sat in his car momentarily debating with himself. If he went in and started questioning people about Mary, they might start asking questions and news might get out and they certainly didn’t want that yet.

He flipped through the contacts in his phone until he came to Anthea’s number. Instead of calling, he sent a quick text asking for Mary’s address and waited. It took only moments and then he was pulling away from the clinic and heading towards Mary’s address.

When he arrived, he sat across the street and watched the darkened house for twenty minutes. When he was sure it was safe, he sent a quick text to Sherlock, letting him know where he was and what he was doing just in case he should happen to go missing.

He snuck around the back and quickly picked the lock to the back door. He made no pretense of making his presence secret and flipped the light on. The last thing he needed was some nosy neighbour calling 999 and reporting a break in if they saw his flashlight in an otherwise darkened house. He quickly checked the house making sure it was empty and then set out to work. He confirmed there was no attempted break in and there didn’t appear to be any kind of struggle, however they removed the pair from the house, there was no struggle so they were most likely unconscious.

Lestrade had gone back to the room that looked to be a small office and began his search there, but it was futile. There was barely anything of interest there, just the regular papers for the house and bank statements which all looked normal but he decided to gather what little was there and the laptop and external hard drive that sat on the desk and made his way back to the kitchen. There was nothing else of interest, no pictures of any kind anywhere to show anything about who she was and that in itself was odd, but the longer Lestrade stood there, the more uncomfortable he felt. It was time to leave. They could look at all this stuff back at the lab and if there was anything unusual to be found, Sherlock would discover it.

 

 

'Okay.'

Molly wiped the blackboard completely blank as Sherlock moved next to her, grabbing the pen. 'Timeline. What happened and what do you know?'

Sherlock worked on mapping out everything major since the moment Jim Moriarty shot himself on the roof while Molly got started on examining the bodies. Sherlock still wasn't sure if he managed to fake his death like Sherlock had, but Sherlock did know that, if Moriarty truly was dead, whoever took John, had been working with Moriarty at some point. If the use of the pool wasn't a sign enough, the texts Sherlock had received sealed the deal. The wording -  _Johnny boy... finish the game... -_ and the mention of the deal that had been made on top of that roof -  _they will die if you don't -_ all of it was enough to make his skin crawl. 

Other than Moriarty's face being shown over every single screen in the country, there was no proof he was still alive. But his network was. Or at least part of it. 

Sherlock stepped away from the board when he reached the moment John had been taken. Near Mary's house. In front of Mycroft's man... In front of...

'Of course!' 

Molly nearly dropped the scalpel she was holding at Sherlock exclamation. 'What it is?'

'Mycroft's man. Mycroft sent someone to Mary to keep her safe. Ever since their disappearance, we lost his trace. No body, no distress message, nothing. John would have trusted him. He would have been surprised.'

'So, whoever is doing this...'

'Already has the men firmly in place. Even in Mycroft's circles. This has been going on for a long time.' 

 


	48. Chapter 48

Lestrade and Mycroft ended up returning to the morgue together. Mycroft had told his guards to remain at the elevators and that for the time being they were off limits to everyone unless otherwise cleared by Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly or Sherlock. The guards just glanced each other but kept their demeanour neutral. As they walked down the hall together, they surveyed what the other held.

 

‘So, what do you have there?’ Lestrade asked motioning to the over-sized thick manila envelope in his hands.

 

‘Hard copies of dental files, seems like the digital ones are questionable.’

 

Lestrade let out a pent up sigh. ’Thank goodness it's not just me being paranoid. Ever since,’ he glanced back towards the guards they were walking away from, ’well, you know, I just get the feeling we can't trust too many people. No offence. Seems like the less people know about things the better.’

 

‘None taken,’ Mycroft said with a slight smirk, ‘I agree with your assessment. Right now I think it's safe that we keep things between the five of us, we can trust Anthea.’

 

‘Oh of course.’ Lestrade nodded. 

 

When they pushed the doors to the lab open they were greeted with an animated Sherlock. He was talking rapid fire, mostly to himself and scribbling what looked like nonsense on the white board.

 

Lestrade peered at Molly, ‘Please tell me he hasn't taken anything. What the bloody hell is he going on about?’

 

 

'Ah, Lestrade!' Sherlock rounded to him, his latest note forgotten for now. 'Have you found anything?'

 

'Uh, no. Not at the clinic at least, because I didn't go there. I went to her house instead. There was nothing. No sign of struggle, not even a sign they were there at all.'

 

Sherlock's mouth curved into a smile, but there was nothing humorous about it. No sign of struggle. If Mary had nothing to do with it but Mycroft's man was, there would be a struggle. Mary had called John in a panic. She would have fought. John would have searched the place high and low. 

If Mary was involved the only struggle would be one that could be easily avoided; the one with John. 

 

Mary. 

 

Sherlock turned back to the whiteboard. Could they all have been so blind? Had it been her? Was she working alone, or with Jim? No, he told himself. Facts. No assumptions. John's life was still at stake. 

 

'Mycroft? What do you have?'

 

 

Mycroft handed the manila envelope to Molly, ‘I believe this will solve the identification issues we seem to be having.’

 

Molly meekly smiled and nodded her head as she accepted the envelope and walked back to the body waiting identification. She silently prayed that these records would indeed confirm that this was not John. She pulled the films out and began with a visual comparison to the body itself, it was evident right away that the teeth did not match and that this was not John, but she made sure to compare everything. She took the films she had made of the victim's jaw and compared them to films Mycroft had given her. Nothing matched, not the bone structures of the jaw, the roots of the teeth or the sinuses. Definitely not John. She sighed in relief and then smiled. She knew she shouldn't be this happy because there was still a dead man and woman in front of her after all, but this was the best news any of them have received since this whole affair began.

 

‘Sherlock.’ She called, trying to wrestle his attention away from Lestrade. He had been explaining everything he'd written on the whiteboard to the DI and Mycroft.

 

‘SHERLOCK!’ She all but yelled to get his attention.

 

His head shot up and he snapped, ‘WHAT!?’

 

‘It's not John.’

 

 

Sherlock had hoped. Oh how he had hoped since the moment Lestrade planted the seed of doubt in his mind but for him to actually hear the words... 

 

Scientific. Fact. 

 

John wasn't dead. 

 

Not. Dead.

 

Alive. 

 

Somewhere. 

 

In the hands of a maniac. 

 

Sherlock felt his knees go weak but Greg, who was hovering close to him, caught him.

'Jesus, Sherlock, when was the last time you slept?' He huffed as he helped Sherlock to the nearest chair, kneeling beside him. 'You okay?'

 

Sherlock nodded. The last couple of days had passed in a blur. Too consumed by grief, he had ignored every single sign his body had given him. Since the broadcast they had allowed themselves no rest and now, with the weight of John's death no longer on his shoulders, he was brutally reminded of that. 

 

John was alive. He was alive and he needed to get him out now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; we feed off of your comments and kudos. 
> 
> Warning: for the next chapter expect a very-not-good Mary. Like, seriously, not nice.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: very not good Mary...

_‘Did you honestly think I would let him have his prize without a fight to the death? Oh no. This game is far from over.’_

 

The words jarred John awake, his breath coming in ragged pulls. Now was not the time to fall apart he reminded himself.

 

The first thing he noticed after he got his breathing under control was that his head ached and the smell of chlorine was gone. If he had use of his arms, he was sure he would find dried blood on the side of his temple. It was sticky, he could feel the skin pull taut as he blinked his eyes. His last conscious memory was Mary hitting him with the butt of the gun she had been holding.

 

As he looked around, his suspicions were confirmed. He had been moved while he was unconscious and the vest was gone. Well, that was a bit of a relief, even though it had more than likely been a fake, he was overjoyed to see the vest gone. However, that was the only thing he could find to be happy about. He had no clue what time of day or even what day it was now that he came to think of it. It had been night time when he had first gone to help Mary and from that moment on, things had blurred together. He could recall being knocked out at least three times, so that didn't help matters.

 

He needed to figure out where he could possibly be and how he could get out, but nothing in the room held any clues. It was then he noticed the knob on the door turning, apparently he was getting a visitor.

 

 

'Ah John, you're finally awake.' Mary's voice drifted inside the room before she appeared herself. 

She was carrying a laptop which she placed on a small table in the corner of the room before she turned to John. A grin adorned her lips but her eyes were hard. Calculating. 

'We wouldn't want you to miss the show after all.'

 

Mary crouched down in front of John, well out of reach. 'How are you feeling? Your head okay?' 

There was no warmth in her voice, the mask of the sweet nurse and loving girlfriend long abandoned. 

 

 

He glared at her, holding his tongue. It would do no good to antagonise her any further. God knows he had already unknowingly done enough damage. He had seen what she was capable of and he needed to figure out what she had planned before he could even attempt trying to figure a way out of the mess he was currently found himself in. He proceeded to move his glance away from her and his eyes came to rest on the laptop.

 

She followed his gaze and smirked. ’I bet you'd like to get your hands on that wouldn't you? Send a message to your precious Sherlock?’

 

Her words had the desired effect, he turned his attention back to her and this time spoke. ’You underestimate him you know. He won't believe this. He'll know it's a trick and he won't stop until he finds me.’

 

Mary laughed. 'Oh John,' she breathed, shaking her hand. 'Your loyalty towards him can never be brought down. Brave loyal John Watson, following Sherlock Holmes around like some lost puppy.'

 

She reached out and patted him on the cheek before rising to her feet again. 'No dear, I think you overestimate him.'

 

Mary walked to the laptop and opened the screen. 'Wanna see how he's doing? It truly is heart breaking. And sad. A man so clever brought down to his knees by a mere trick. Jim was right you know.' She typed in something causing the screen to turn on. 'He really is boring, underneath all that arrogance and intelligence.' 

 

Mary looked over her shoulder to John with a grin. She stepped out of the way so John could see. 

 

 

John's heart sunk as the screen flickered to life, he immediately recognized the sitting room of 221B. There was no time stamp but when people appeared on the screen, it was obvious that this was the when they has brought Sherlock back from Bart's right after the explosion. 

 

It was grim, no one said much, except when they explained what had happened to Mrs Hudson who had heard the commotion and followed them up the stairs. 

 

Sherlock himself was nothing more than an empty sheep. He barely moved and didn't speak. Mrs Hudson had taken it upon herself to try and get him to eat or drink it he didn't. 

 

In fact the only time he looked alive is when Mycroft would receive a phone call and he really seemed to become himself just before they left the flat again. John assumed that's when the bodies had been located. He had no way of knowing how long the entire process had taken as the video itself had been condensed but judging by the number of outfit changes by Mrs Hudson, John knew for certain at least three days had passed. 

 

Mary may have had a point about how Sherlock looked and acted on the video, but John knew not to take Sherlock at face value. Maybe it was unrealistic to hold onto to the belief that somehow, someway Sherlock would find him, especially with this evidence. John had doubted Sherlock once before – that’s why he was in this mess now - and he would not do it this time. Sherlock would eventually see that something wasn't right and come looking for john. He wouldn't let Mary crush that hope, but he would play along and let her think she was winning. It might be his only chance out of this mess. 

 

 

Mary had watched John closely during the length of the video and she could see the disbelief in his eyes. 

Sherlock was a marvelous actor and John was clinging to the hope that Sherlock was doing it now.

 

'Three days John,' she said teasingly. 'The way I see it, it's bad for you either way. Or Sherlock is truly so crushed by his grief that he will let you rot here - it is shame I have no one at the morgue by the way. I would have loved to see him cry over 'your' corpse.

'Or... he is acting and choose to let you here. For three days. Not really a sign of devotion and love if you ask me.' 

Mary shrugged and walked to the laptop again, typing in something else.

 

News feed. And the explosion at Cally Pool was their number one topic. 

 

'Two bodies were pulled from the wreckage today and the press have seen it,' Mary said while watching the absolute chaos on the screen with a gleeful glint in her eyes. 'The Yard has to come with answers soon. Identities for instance.'

Mary turned back to John and wiggled her eyebrows. 'You and I will be officially dead in a few hours and then I can really begin.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give us your kudos and comments preciouss. Gives them to uss!


	50. Chapter 50

After Sherlock's near collapse, Mycroft let Molly and Lestrade deal with the now argumentative Sherlock who was waving them off and trying to get back to figuring out what they had missed. He quickly texted Anthea and informed her of their new found discovery and advised her that they appeared to have one or more infiltrations and that she was to share no information with anyone unless directed by him personally.

‘I'm fine really, I can sleep after we find John.’ he shouted.

‘Sherlock.’ Molly said firmly, grabbing his arm and forcing him to sit in the nearest chair. ’When was the last time you've eaten or even had anything to drink? Sherlock you're going to collapse and end up with exhaustion and forced into the hospital if you don't stop.’

He looked up with Molly, a spark in his eyes and kissed her forehead excitedly. ’You are brilliant!’ 

She looked at him a bit confused. ’I think we've already reached that point.’ She said looking at Lestrade.

‘No, I promise, I will eat and even rest a bit, but we can use this don't you see. We can further throw off whoever is doing this. We can release the identities and at the same time leak that I'm still alive, but being hospitalised because I have a break down or something of the such. We can work out the particulars later.’

No one seemed to follow him and Sherlock gritted his teeth in frustration. 

'Don't you see? If I am incapacitated, whoever's got John will be convinced they have the upper hand. John's body would been found, his identity confirmed and with myself in hospital - '

Realisation dawned in Mycroft's eyes. 'No one will suspect that their plan has failed. They would believe they've won.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Leaving the field wide open for us. Whoever this is, they'll have to make a move - that is the whole point. To burn me. I'll be the perfect target.'

The two brothers eyed each other for a moment and Sherlock could see Mycroft's mind was moving into the same direction as his own. It would be easy. Almost laughably so. 

Lestrade however, seemed less convinced. 'Hold on. Run this by me again; how on Earth is being hospitalised going to help John or catch who's behind this?'

Sherlock pulled out his phone and showed Lestrade the messages. 'This,' he explained. 'These messages started the moment Moriarty's face showed up on screen. Again when we found the bodies in the warehouse and again at the flat mere moments before the bodies were found under the pool. They're keeping a close eye on us, me specifically. They'll text again and when they do, I'll respond. In their eyes, I'll be a grieving suicidal wreck, desperate for revenge. No threat at all. They would have burned the heart right out of me. All I need is a bullet to the brain.'

Greg looked between the two Holmes', disbelief evident on his face. 'You're going to meet him. Or her. Or whoever has John. On your own? Are you fucking insane?!'

'There is no other way, Greg! Don't you get it? John's life is in danger and I will do anything, anything I have to and can do, to save him!'

'But you realize that's exactly what they want. A face off with you.’ Lestrade said. 

‘Yes. And it's brilliant don't you see? They will think they have the upper hand. That I'm broken but that won't be the case. And besides, I'm sure there's some way to work in you and Mycroft being near in case anything should go wrong. This is the only chance I have at getting John back safe.’

‘He's right.’ Molly spoke up. If we play it out and keep it between the four of us in this room, then we can pull it off. But whatever you do Sherlock to make a spectacle of being broken, it better be big.’

‘Oh don't worry Doctor Hooper, I'm sure my brother already has something in mind that will leave no doubt to his state of mind.’

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and nodded. 'I do.' 

He rose from his chair, forcing himself to move past the exhaustion plaguing his body. 'But we need to move quickly. Lestrade, go back to the Yard and prepare an official statement which as many journalists as possible. Tell them the bodies have been identified as John Watson and Mary Morstan. Molly, I need you to stay here. Find out who these people were.

'I need you with me Mycroft. We're going back to Baker Street.'

 

With everything decided, Sherlock stood and swayed for a moment, getting his bearings straight before walking off to the door. He turned back, ‘Remember, not a word to this anyone, oh and for future reference, nothing sensitive should be talked about at Baker Street. I have every reason to believe it is bugged so just act appropriately should you find yourself there at any time from now until we get John back.’

Mycroft had raised his eyebrow at Sherlock's unsteadiness, but let it go for the moment. He would see to it that his brother had a meal and some fluids in the very near future. He said nothing as he rose and followed Sherlock to the elevators staying quiet the entire time. Sherlock had put on the face of a grieving man and played the part perfectly until they crawled into the back of Mycroft's waiting car.

Mycroft gave Sherlock a moment to get settled before inquiring. 'Pray tell brother, what wicked devised have you planned to out Miss Morstan?'

Sherlock's head snapped to Mycroft. 

'We don't know if it is her.'

'It is the most probable option, Sherlock and you know it. Clever as James Moriarty might have been, a bullet to the head is not a thing even he could have survived.'

'Nor is falling off of a building.'

Mycroft lowered his head a little, giving him a pointed look. 'You never truly hit the ground.'

Sherlock scoffed and turned his head, watching as the city rolled past them. He tried to remember every single details about his meeting with Mary Morstan. It seemed so long ago now after everything that had happened and looking at it now, it provided no new information. 'I don't care, Mycroft,' Sherlock muttered. 'I don't care if it's Jim or Mary or someone else; they have John.'  
  
'So, what is your plan?'

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'I need to relapse. Or appear to do so at the very least. Fake an overdose and be spotted when they carry me inside the ambulance. Have Anthea and someone you both trust drive it and take me to hospital. Private room. I'm sure you can pull some strings.' He pulled out his phone. 'My network will be outside 221 with their cameras and they will post it online. Once the news feeds have picked it up, which will be soon once Lestrade makes his statement, we are in the clear. When we reach the flat, tell mrs. Hudson we've identified John's body. This needs to be believable.'

'Lie to her? Again?'

'She'll understand once all of this is done. They need to believe my relapse is real otherwise this whole plan will fail before we can begin. With John 'dead', it really shouldn't be that big of surprise, anyway.'

Mycroft stared at Sherlock, who refused to acknowledge him. No, Mycroft had to admit, it really wouldn't be. When Sherlock had truly believed John to be dead, it was like he was fading away right in front of them and not for the first time Mycroft wondered how close they had all gotten to losing Sherlock. Mycroft cleared his throat to collect himself and Sherlock was gracious enough not to say anything more.

Mycroft used the remaining time to line things up with Anthea. When they arrived at Baker Street, he reached out and grasped Sherlock's forearm, preventing him from getting out of the car just yet.

‘You know, the only reason I'm letting you do this is because this is the only way it has the slightest chance of working. And promise me the overdose will be fake. I don't ever want to go through you and the drugs again. I know you'll have to make it look real for the cameras, just promise me it will be FAKE.’

Their eyes locked and Sherlock nodded in affirmation.

Mycroft nodded back and relayed one more thought, one he wasn't sure Sherlock had thought of. ’You do realise that whoever is doing this will probably have John watching. Are you prepared for the hurt and anger that will bring once we get him back? Because he won't know that you aren't faking.’

Sherlock froze, his hand on the door handle. No, he hadn't thought of that. But it did make sense. They were being toyed with, excessively so. Of course Sherlock would not be the only one who was targeted by the whims of a psychopath. 

John would suffer, but if that meant John would stay alive... 

'It'll be worth it,' Sherlock admitted. 'I need him alive, Mycroft. It that means he'll be angry with me, then I will face that when we come to that. But I swear it Mycroft,' Sherlock met Mycroft's gaze, 'it will not be real. Regular saline; I always have some in house.'

Sherlock took a deep breath, letting the mask fall into place. He needed to be seen grieving, completely defeated now that the confirmation had been given. Broken. His shoulders were slumped and his legs barely seemed able to carry him when he got out of the car. His eyes were burning with tears he refused to let fall and when the front door was opened for him by mrs. Hudson, he refused to meet her gaze. 

'Oh... Sherlock...' 

Sherlock moved past her, not stopping to seek comfort or to provide her some. Mycroft needed to stall her. Give him time to prepare. 

 

Mycroft had stayed behind to give Sherlock the opportunity to set up their little ruse.  They needed to make it look believable if they were going to fool whoever was behind this. They weren't quite certain how many cameras there were but they figured at least one in the main area of 221B.

 

Mycroft did his best to break the news gently to Mrs. Hudson. He felt guilty for lying to her but they really had no choice at the moment. He didn't doubt her loyalty to Sherlock or John for that matter, but he didn't trust any of the other players of this game. They had already gotten to far inside and it would do no good to put Mrs, Hudson at risk, so he made a show, just in case there were cameras watching.  

 

He had already made the arrangements with Anthea for the ambulance on the way over from the privacy of the car so the only thing left to do was to go and find Sherlock in the throes of an apparent overdose. He took his time making his way up the stairs and pausing just outside the door when he made it to the landing, listening for the right time to enter. When he heard a commotion from the other side of the door, he prepared himself for the performance he was about to give and forced the door open.

 

 

 


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously a-bit-not-good-Mary here. Mary fans might want to close their eyes...

_'Authorities have scheduled a press conference at noon to release information regarding the explosion at Cally Pool. The identities of the two victims have been determined and their next of kin have been notified. Detective Inspector Lestrade will be…'_

The words flowing out of the laptop speakers made his stomach churn. He found he could no longer pay attention as his head began to spin and he needed to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing so he didn't succumb to a panic attack, too bad he couldn't lean forward at all to get his head any lower.

Then a thought occurred to him that made him feel even worse. If Sherlock really did believe he was dead, it would be up to him to figure out a way to get himself out of here and fast before Sherlock did something incredibly stupid and reckless, but surely Mycroft wouldn't leave him alone, not now. Hell, John hadn't even begun to try and figure out what Mary's endgame for him was, he had just been trying to wrap his head around the fact that he missed all the signs that were probably there. The biggest one being how easily she left him off the hook after he broke their engagement, but he was just so used to all his past girlfriends accepting that his heart belonged to Sherlock that he didn't pay any mind to it.

Her sickly sweet voice snapped his focus back to her. 'Why don't we see what your beloved is up to now? How does that sound, love?’ She sneered.

Mary tapped a few buttons on the laptop and then pulled the small table over so John could have a better view. She pulled a chair over and sat next to John to watch with him. ’Shall I go make us some popcorn?’

The view of the sitting room was empty at first. John almost sighed in relief, he wasn't sure he want to see Sherlock's reaction to the news. He was also certain it may be some time before he would have to see Sherlock's state since the flat was empty, but then he saw the tall, slightly hunched over figure enter the sitting room and place something on the coffee table. It was a rectangular wooden box, a box John knew all too well by sight. A box he hadn't thought to check since his return to 221B.

‘Nononono...’ he started whispering, unaware he was even making a sound while he struggled against his bonds.

 

Mary's eyes lit up when Sherlock emerged from the bedroom, shoulders slumped, head down and with a little wooden box in his trembling hands. 

She had no idea what that box meant but when John started struggling against his bonds, Mary turned to him. 

'Oh my...' she uttered with a grin on her face. 'Looks like I have to speed things up a little.'

Mary placed a hand on John's thigh, patting as if to comfort. 'I told you, you overestimate him. Poor Sherlock. All alone again. It's hard to resist the siren call of old habits when there is no one to drown out the noise.'

                                                                

Mary kept her hand firmly in place as they both watched Sherlock curling in on himself in John's chair. One arm outstretched. Box in his lap.

 

John was repulsed by her touch and tried to shift the chair to get away from her touch. How he was ever engaged to this woman - no, monster - he had no idea, but then it occurred to him now was not the time to be showing signs of distress so he made himself stop trying to inch away from her.

‘There, now that's better.’ Mary jeered, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. ’You wouldn't want to miss this show.’

John wanted nothing more than to do anything other than watch the proceedings on the screen. He watched in horror as Sherlock filled the syringe with his infamous seven percent solution and then ready his arm. John felt sick, he felt like his whole world was turning upside down and there was nothing he could do to stop it, and when Sherlock finally plunged the needle into his arm, John almost wretched again. He could understand but it didn't mean he approved. He let his head drop forward until it was over, not wanting to watch. When he lifted his head back up, there Sherlock, slumped back against the chair, dazed out look on his face and arm slack now, syringe dropped to the floor forgotten, but something didn't seem quite right. He was too listless, but not, and was his body jerking? Oh god, he was beginning to seize, he'd mixed too much.

‘Nononono!’ John screamed at the monitor. Then he looked to Mary, ‘Please, I know you don't like him for what he's done, but he doesn't deserve this. Please call an ambulance and have it sent to Baker Street, please. If you ever loved me, it's the least you could do.’

‘Now why would I do that John? I want him dead.’

‘Not like this you don't. I thought you wanted him dead by your hand, knowing it was you all along.’ he yelled at her. ’So help me God you don't do anything to save him, you best be sure I don't get free because I will kill you and I will not be merciful about it. I will make you hurt until your last breath has expired.’

 

Mary looked at John for a moment, before looking back at the screen.

Sherlock was seizing, his body jerking and twitching as he slid out of the red armchair. It could be over, she realised. Over before Sherlock even knew what was truly going on.

Mary had expected, had hoped, that Sherlock would tear the world apart after John had so violently being taken away from him.

This however, was becoming almost too easy.

 

Both she and John jerked in surprise when they saw the door to the living room of 221B being opened roughly, revealing Mycroft Holmes. It was only a moment, one fleeting second, where Mary could see beyond the mask of the Iceman. One hint of the panic and grief that was always so carefully hidden away.

Mycroft Holmes’ only weak point; his baby brother. His addicted, grieving and suicidal brother.

‘No need to call,’ she taunted, looking at John again. ‘Looks like the cavalry has just arrived.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; as always, we feed off of your comments and kudos. And again, thank you all so much for reading. Still! This ride has been crazy so far and we're happy to share it with you all.


	52. Chapter 52

Mycroft entered the room quickly, heading towards Sherlock and paused for a moment, giving the impression of being caught off guard yet not all that surprised at this turn of events by Sherlock. He dropped his coat to the floor and knelt down beside Sherlock, coaxing him to his side until the seizing had resided, then 'checked' his pulse, fingers lingering a bit longer than necessary and pressing a bit more than needed, conveying job well done. It did indeed look truly genuine and Mycroft would know, in fact he was surprised at the memories that flooded him when he rushed into the flat and saw Sherlock lying there. This was a sight he had never wished to see again, even if it was fake.

He drew his phone from his pocket and proceeded to make the call for help. Within minutes, sirens could be heard approaching Baker Street.

 

Sherlock had to block out Mrs. Hudson's worried chattering when she entered the room after Mycroft. It wouldn't help him to feel guilty about lying to her - again. She'd understand, she always did. He would explain once everything was done. He needed to focus now. 

But when he felt Mycroft's fingers press down on his wrist, harder than he needed to do to find a pulse, Sherlock twisted his fingers to return the gesture. No matter how exhausted and drained Sherlock might feel right now and how anxious he was to get things going, he felt the need to reassure Mycroft that he was fine. Fine enough at least. 

Finally, finally, Sherlock could hear the ambulance approaching and Mrs. Hudson rushing downstairs to open the door for them. Things moved fast once the ambulance personnel - bought and sworn to secrecy by Anthea - entered the building and loaded him onto the gurney to carry him outside and into the ambulance. 

 

Time seemed to drag on yet fly by as John and Mary watched the screen. Soon enough the paramedics had seemingly stabilised an unresponsive Sherlock and when they left the flat John had no idea what condition Sherlock might be in, but he would find out soon enough, along with the rest of London.

 

 

Mycroft needn't fake his surprise when they reached the sidewalk at Baker Street. He was truly shocked by the number of reporters that had shown up, considering they should have been across town covering the NSY announcement. What a world they lived in when the rumour that Sherlock Holmes' may not be dead after all (even after more than two years) trumped the announcement of the identities of the bodies at the pool. Sherlock was right, this would work well to their advantage in tricking whoever was behind this.

 

 

The press conference had been going well, albeit a bit sombre. Lestrade tried not to draw it out as he kept his statement concise and to the point, announcing that they had indeed confirmed the identities as John Watson and Mary Morstan, the investigation was of course still active and therefore this was all the information he could release about the explosion at the pool. They had set up a hotline and were urging people to call in with any suspicious information they might have no matter how trivial it might seem regarding any activity at the pool or surrounding area within the last few weeks.

Just as he was wrapping up, several mobile devices could be heard beeping with alerts. Before he could leave the podium, a reporter near the front posed one last question that altered the entire atmosphere of the almost finished conference.

‘Detective Inspector, before you go, one last question please?’

He nodded for the reporter to proceed.

‘Is it true that Sherlock Holmes is still alive, albeit en route to Bart's due to suspected drug overdose? Is this why Jim Moriarty has returned and could possibly be responsible for the explosion at the pool and the death of Mr. Holmes' associate and his new fiancée?’

Greg was stumped. 

His first thoughts were that of panic - it wasn't the first time he had heard the name of Sherlock Holmes in association with 'overdose' but, by God, he had hoped he would never hear them in the same sentence ever again. 

But then Sherlock's words in the morgue came back to him. 

Hospitalised. Incapacitated. He just prayed to God that he hadn't taken the risk of really shooting up in an effort to make it look as real as possible. 

Greg gritted his teeth. 'No comment.' 

With the questions being yelled after him, he left the podium. 

 

 

'The detective inspector did well, all things considering.'

Sherlock ignored Mycroft's comment and closed off the live feed on Mycroft's phone. 'Which hospital - '

'Bart's,' Mycroft replied quickly, taking the phone from his hands. 'We can't risk transporting you to a safe location yet. I can't be seen leaving the hospital either, not with you being in such a... critical position.'

Sherlock nodded. He kept looking down to his own phone. Any minute now, he thought. 

He felt nervous. Jittery. As if the saline in the syringe had been a hit of cocaine. Sherlock's heart was racing and his hands barely managed to keep still. 

'Here.'

Mycroft pressed a sandwich in them. Sherlock stared at it for a moment before relenting. But he tasted nothing. He chewed and swallowed it away with a bottle of water and for once, Mycroft didn't say anything. 

 

‘So what do you expect to happen now?’ Mycroft asked Sherlock.

‘I expect that whoever is holding John saw the media circus surrounding my removal from Baker Street and the press conference that Lestrade just finished. I am hoping they are feeling safe enough now that they make a mistake.’

‘So are you ready to accept the fact that we are dealing with Miss Morstan? I have to tell you Sherlock, the more we try to find anything about her, the less we come up with.’

Sherlock nodded as he finished his sandwich and drink. ’You need to bring me everything you have on her. I need to look at it.’

‘Have you not been listening? There is nothing, literally.’

‘Lestrade had a laptop and external drive that he brought to the lab at Bart's. Get in touch with Molly and have her bring it to me once I get settled on whichever floor you plan to stash me on.’

 

 

'What the hell have you done?'

Lestrade was standing in the doorway of the private room Mycroft had acquired for Sherlock, face red and out of breath. He had been running. Worried. 

Sherlock smiled. Good. It'd be believable. 

'Ah, Lestrade, good of you to join us.' Mycroft didn't even bother looking up from his phone and Lestrade shot him a glare. He threw the door shut behind him, a little harder than he would have to and turned back to Sherlock.

'Join... you... you're not high?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Regular saline. No harm done to me psychically but the word is out. I'm alive and a junkie for the world to see. No threat to anyone.'

Lestrade let out a trembling breath. 'Jesus Christ, Sherlock...' 

'We needed it to be believable, Lestrade. If you had known, you might have jeopardized it.' Sherlock hated fooling Lestrade with this. With everything the other man had done for him during his addiction... 'We are sorry.'

'Right,' Lestrade breathed. He rubbed his forehead and sank down on one of the chairs. 'Okay... so now what?'

‘Now,’ Mycroft began, ‘we find out what we can about Miss Morstan. Miss Hooper should be on her way up with the laptop and drive you recovered from your earlier visit to her residence. With any luck that will hold some answers.’

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, ‘I do think you're wasting your time on your pursuit of Mary as the leader in all of this. I'm not suggesting she isn't involved, I just don't think she's the one behind this.’

‘Why? Why is it so hard for you to believe? You saw Moriarty shoot himself in the head for God's sake,’ he put his hand up to quiet Sherlock, ‘and while I know we never recovered a body, it doesn't meant that his men didn't remove it, and we know his men were on the scene that day, need I remind you, there was one poised to put a bullet in the head of your beloved doctor. So it seems perfectly logical that there could have been a whole team ready to clean up whatever mess was left at the end of his little game.’

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it again. He was feeling the beginnings of a slight headache and was not in the mood to argue, not about this, not right now.

Mycroft huffed and was about to proceed with his continuing doubts about the innocence of Miss Morstan when there was a soft knock at the door.

Sherlock immediately slumped down in the bed, giving the appearance of still being unconscious.

Lestrade opened the door, allowing Molly to enter. Her first look inside the room was of Sherlock lying in the bed, eyes closed, apparently oblivious to everything going on around him. She gasped, ‘Oh my God, I didn't want to believe...’

 

Sherlock's eyes opened and he pushed himself up in the bed, instantly startling her. ’Yes, sorry about that.’

Molly stared at Sherlock for a moment, mouth still open and Sherlock could see her concern make way for anger. 'Sherlock Holmes...'

'It's for a good cause, Molly,' Sherlock was quick to interfere as Lestrade shut the door behind her. 'It was saline. Nothing more, you can test me if that'd make you feel better.'

Molly looked down for a second, shoulders sagging with relief. 'No, that's... it's fine, Sherlock. It's just... on the TV - you looked so... it looked real.'

Sherlock gave her a small smile. 'I know how to act high, Molly.'

'Well, you look it... when is the last time you slept? Have you eaten at all?'

'Mols... can you help me with the laptop?' Greg stepped closer to her and Molly threw a pointed look Sherlock's way before she sat down with Greg. Sherlock sank back into the pillows, closing his eyes for a second. He tried to will the headache away. He had to focus. John's life was still at stake and the thought that Mary, the woman John had been engaged with, had lived with for a year, was the one responsible, made him feel sick.

'Sherlock?'

'Yes, Mycroft, I'm thinking,' he snapped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember; as always, we feed off of your comments and kudos. And again, thank you all so much for reading. Still! This ride has been crazy so far and we're happy to share it with you all.


	53. Chapter 53

John hadn't said a word since Baker Street fell empty. They watched the newsfeed of Sherlock being pushed into the back of the ambulance and Mycroft following, doors slamming shut. Mary laughed and nattered on about how fantastic the entire situation was. How she had singlehandedly driven the Great Sherlock Holmes back to his favourite pastime; drugs.

‘Oh John!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘Don't you see how brilliant this is? I can kill him now so very easily and make it look related to the overdose. I could sneak into his hospital room, make like a nurse delivering some flowers and then I can tell him everything. Tell him how you're still alive, how he failed you miserably, and how he won't be able to save you now.’ The gleam in her eye was unmistakable, the women was giddy, practically bouncing on her toes.

John perked up at her tone. ‘Save me from what?’ He knew if she managed to succeed and kill Sherlock he was next, he was no fool, but he was also not one to let go of an opportunity. He would try to get whatever information out of her he could.

She turned and faced him, leaned forward and placed her hands on his thighs. ‘From me of course. You know, at first I was just going to kill you, but I think maybe I'd like to keep you around a bit. You can't tell me that those few moments you had with him better than what we had.’ She let her hands inch slowly up his thighs, she leaned forward even more so her lips were next to his ears. ‘You and I used to have some hot times and I know you loved every second of it. I can give you so much more than he can John.’

His skin began to crawl when she put her hands on him. When she leaned forward, he tried to back away from her, but she kept going. She couldn't really be serious, could she? When he could finally take no more, he snapped at her. ‘You're sick! You're crazy! You're worse than Moriarty, you know that don't you?’

She leaned back a bit and picked up the gun that lie on the table. She ran the muzzle down his cheek and squeezed his thigh with the hand that still rested there. ‘Oh sweetheart... where do you think he learned it from?’

His eyes went wide at her words, ‘Well you're out of your mind if you think I'm going to willingly stay with you. You are nothing compared to Sherlock.’

He could see the anger flare in her eyes as her arm raised and the gun made contact with the side of his head.

 

They worked. Without respite they worked. Every scrap of information was looked over, examined, before tossed aside of filed depending on the content. Molly and Greg sat together at the laptop, looking over the contents of the external hard drive. There were a lot of files, most of them complete junk filled with layer upon layer of files. 

But sometimes, they found a document written in some sort of code which they immediately showed Mycroft and Sherlock. 

Sherlock was in direct contact with his homeless network who he had out looking for any trace of something suspicious while Mycroft had ordered Anthea to cross reference every bit of CCTV they had. The focus was the man who had been stationed at Mary's house. He had been a mole, a lower classed thug and more likely to make a mistake. They needed to focus on him if they were to find John.

They worked seemingly endlessly until Molly started nodding off and Greg offered to get some coffee and food. Sherlock waved the offer away, barely pausing to look up from his phone. He had no time to slow down. The clock kept ticking and John was still missing. Still not with him and Sherlock feared. He dreaded the moment their time would be up and it _would_ be John's corpse showing up on his phone. 

No texts. No videos. Nothing on the news either. Silence. Completely nothing. Sherlock bit his lower lip. He had expected something, anything by now and the more minutes passed, the more he dreaded the moment that he would hear something. 

'Sherlock, you need to eat something. Get some rest. You look - '

'I'm fine Lestrade.'

 

Greg huffed and looked at Molly who was all but asleep in the chair, she definitely needed to go somewhere and rest and he needed a word with Mycroft. He looked again at Sherlock who was grumbling to himself and scribbling notes on some paper. Greg walked over to Molly and crouched down by her side, gently nudging her by the shoulder to wake her.

‘Mmmm? I'm awake,’ she said a bit drowsily as she sat up straight.

Greg grinned, ‘Look Mols,’ he spoke softly and soothingly, ‘you've been here long enough. I want you to go take a break and get some rest.’

 

‘I'm fine, I can stay here and take a short kip, I'll be fine.’ she yawned.

He grimaced and put his hand on hers, ‘Molly, Isn't there a lounge or somewhere you could sleep, away from all this? I promise if anything happens I'll come and get you.’

She nodded, ‘Yea, there are some rooms on one of the lower floors that doctors use, I can see if one of them are free.’

‘Good, I walk you there.’ he stood and pulled her out of the chair and nudged her to the door, ‘Go on, I'll be right there.’ She nodded and exited the room.

Lestrade then walked to where Mycroft stood, ‘A word if you please, preferably out in the hall.’ He said, his voice low. Lestrade turned and Mycroft followed.

As the door closed, Lestrade turned and looked at Mycroft, ‘I fancy a coffee and a talk, how about you accompany me as I walk Molly to the lower floors, then you and I can have a little chat about your brother.’

I don't really think it's wise to leave him alone.’

‘He's not going to go anywhere if that's what you're worried about.’ Lestrade answered. I have a few plain clothes men at various positions in the hospital, they'll see him if he tries to leave or if someone tries to come in that doesn't belong. Besides, I can guarantee you he won't even realise we've gone.’

‘If you insist,’ Mycroft agreed, raising his arm and ushering Molly and Lestrade forward to their destination.

 

'Coffee?'

Greg offered the cup to Mycroft who took it. He didn't drink. 

They left Molly behind in the on call room, with the insurance that they'd wake her if there was any news. 

'You worry about Sherlock,' Mycroft stated and Greg sighed. 

'You must be too. I mean... after the explosion, Sherlock was... you saw him. And now all this. He is running on fumes and he won't stop until he has found John. He'll be a risk. What if we find him? Sherlock will want to come with us, you know this. He is good but even he can't function like this.'

 

‘I also know he won't rest until we find Doctor Watson, thus the vicious circle we find ourselves in. You won't be able to reason with him, not until this is over.’

 

‘Well maybe we should forget about reasoning and just intervene. We're no closer to finding John at the moment, maybe we should give him a mild sedative and let his body get the rest it so desperately needs.’

‘He'll never agree to it.’ Mycroft replied. ‘I assume you have something in mind.’

Lestrade nodded. ‘I do yea. I think we should put something in one of his drinks. I know he'll get pissed, but I'd rather see him get four or five hours solid rest then have him pass out from exhaustion in the middle of a chase.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘You certainly do know what it takes to deal with my brother, but you are right. Let me visit the nurses’ station and get what we need.’

 

Sherlock could vaguely hear the door opening and closing and a silence fell into the room. He looked up.

They had left.

For a moment Sherlock stopped working. With no one left in the room, he contemplated getting up and leaving. To search through the underbelly of this city himself. He hated leaving this in the hands of others but he knew he had no choice; the last time he had tried to do things on his own, things had gone horribly wrong. Sherlock couldn’t do that again. If he were to make a mistake…

Sherlock couldn’t even think about that.

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against his headache. Sherlock knew he needed sleep and food – he could almost hear John chastising him for ignoring his transport – but he couldn’t. Not while John was still away. Not with so many question plaguing his mind.

The door opened again and Sherlock sighed. If they would tell him to sleep one more time…

‘Hello Sherlock.’

Sherlock’s eyes flew open.

Mary. Only it wasn’t her. Not really. Dressed in a nurse’s outfit, a wheelchair in front of her, she almost looked too small to be noticed. Her black wig made her face pale and sharper but it was her eyes that caused Sherlock’s stomach to fall. He had contemplated the possibility that she was being blackmailed. Coerced. Something! Anything but this.

Mary’s head tilted ever so slightly, a smile adoring her red lips, but there was nothing in her eyes but deranged glee. ‘Well, you certainly look splendid for a man who just tried to kill himself.’ Mary closed the door behind her. ‘I will admit, you had me fooled.’ She leaned against the door taking in her surroundings. ‘Any luck trying to find me?

‘Had I known you’d come to me, I would have simply called.’ Sherlock knew he sounded more sure of himself than he felt and Mary gave him a pointed look; she knew too.

‘Oh, but this is more fun. Face to face. I was going to kill you, but now… no, I thought of something else. Something a bit more theatrical; fits us more, now that I think about it.’

‘You killed John.’

Mary sighed. ‘Necessary, I’m afraid. John was in the way. He was making you too – ’ Mary waved her hand, looking for the right word. ‘ – boring. I don’t like boring things. Shame though… he was a good lay.’

 

Sherlock felt the hate for her burn its way through him. He struggled to stay still but his fingers were aching to wrap them around her neck. To watch those eyes dull, the blood vessels pop from the pressure. He wanted to end her for even touching John. Mary merely smiled. ‘Oh Sherlock… look at you. Still on the side of the angels.’

Something snapped when Sherlock heard those words again and he sat up quickly. But Mary was faster. She pulled out a gun from behind the wheelchair and pointed it at his head. ‘Don’t. Just… get in the chair. You and I need to have a little chat in private.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh...


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, sexual intimidation and abuse and a very-not-good-Mary.
> 
>  
> 
> Over 800 kudos. Wow. We both sit here in awe every single day at the response this has been getting. Who would have thought that a role-play to pass to the time could turn into something this big. And now, the end is not that far away. Still several chapters left, don't worry, but we can see the end approaching and we're so grateful for all of you. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for stalking our Tumblr accounts for early updates. Thank you!

John had awoken to an empty room with a crushing headache and nothing but dread filling his stomach. He needed to get the hell out of the binds and warn Sherlock. He scanned the room with his eyes and tried to locate anything that would help him get free. If Mary was truly off to the hospital to see Sherlock, there was no telling what she would do. That's when he spotted some loose flowers lying on the table next to the lap top. His heart now raced. This was really not good. He started to wriggle in the chair, trying to gain any amount of space he could to be able to move freer, but there was none to be had. He then tried to move his legs and found they were now bound to the chair as well.

‘Shit.’ he grumbled to himself. She must have expected to be gone quite some time if she went to that length.

That's when he heard the knob to the door turn. He stilled and looked up. He was sickened by the sight that greeted him as the door swung inwards. Mary, clad in a black wig and white nurses' uniform, pushing an incapacitated Sherlock in a wheel chair.

God he looked so pale and helpless John thought as he struggled once more against his binds. ’What the hell have you done?’ John growled at her.

 

'Nothing dear,' Mary drawled as she pushed Sherlock further into the room. 'Well, not much. You know what heroin does to the body. Poor Sherl has been rather indulgent, I must say.' 

Mary patted Sherlock's cheek softly. 

Sherlock's head swayed as if he was struggling to raise it but it fell again. 'Oh you poor thing.' Mary sighed. 'I may have miscalculated the dose a little.' She turned back to John. 'Just a little.'

She pulled out a syringe from her uniform and waved it so John could see. 'He'll wake up soon enough and when he does... it will be the last time for both of you.'

 

‘Is this really a necessary part of your game? You've obviously won? Isn't this making it just a bit too easy? I mean having us stuck here like this. I would have thought you'd want to make a big spectacle out of our deaths.’ John reasoned, trying to drag things out, give Sherlock time to wake up and recover his faculties, and that's when he let his eyes wander quickly to the detective, trying to get a read on his condition. His breathing was slow and steady, not fast and fluttering like it would be if he was strung out. His head still lolled back and forth, but his arms which were slack at his side made a one quick motion and it was all John needed for a sign. _Keep her busy._ It was almost like he could hear the words, so that's what he did, he kept her focus on him.

‘Does it bother you John? That it was so easy to break him? I've already broken him once, though I must admit, that one was more pleasurable. Watching him break. It took months and I enjoyed every video they sent me. In fact, sometimes you were even in the room when I watched them and you never knew, never once suspected. You had your nose stuck in a book having a nice, normal evening, while I sat across from you watching my men beat him to a bloody pulp.’

‘What are you going on about?’ John asked.

‘Really John, you can't be that slow can you? This entire time, Sherlock wasn't taking down Moriarty's network, he was destroying MINE! And when I finally got him, I made him suffer and I let it drag on for months. Told them how to best torture him and use your name to taunt him, but then somehow his meddling brother got him out. I still have the videos, would you like to see some? Like to see how weak and vulnerable this man you've chosen over me really is. I can show you John. It's really quite pathetic how easy it all was.’ she scoffed, now entirely focused on John.

John grinned, this is exactly what Sherlock wanted, after all - her focus away from him and on John.

 

Sherlock's head was pounding. He should have known. The moment he had sat down in the wheelchair, Sherlock had felt the sharp pain of a needle in his upper arm. He hadn’t even seen it. Hadn’t even suspected. Sherlock had been slow.

He had missed the ride over here due to his drugged state, he had no idea where they were and apart from his absence, his brother would no clue where he was.

But John!

Through the haze in his brain he could hear his voice. Still alive!

Sherlock struggled to open his eyes and his vision swam in front of his eyes. God, he needed to focus. And John kept talking, talking and he could hear Mary. He needed to keep John talking. He needed more time.

Sherlock might not be able to raise his head to meet his gaze, but he managed to move his hand. And John kept talking. Brilliant, amazing John.

Serbia. Sherlock’s stomach rolled at the mention of that place. Oh he had been wrong. For years he had thought that Jim Moriarty was the puppeteer. The ultimate criminal mastermind and the one he needed to beat. That it had been his games. But now he saw; they had all been wrong.

But there was no time. Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose, trying to clear his head. 

 

John's stomach cringed at the thought of Mary being involved in the horrors Sherlock had endured in Serbia. But he had to keep her talking; what better way to provide Sherlock with more time to get his senses back. 

‘Actually, I'd much rather watch Top Gear if you must know.’ He quipped.

She slapped him hard across the face and after he opened his eyes from the sudden shock, he noticed Sherlock's hand balled in a fist. That was a promising sign, he was becoming more aware of his surroundings, but John planned on giving him some more time.

‘Let's see if I can find my favourite ones.’ She trilled, turning to the lap top and clicking through a series folder. ’Ah here we go. This.’ She said waving here hand at the screen, ‘this is my personal favourite. You won't be able to hear what Vukasin is saying but I gave him a list of things that would push all of right buttons. Namely, that list was your name and all the nasty things he could do to you that would get a rise out of Sherlock. Let’s watch shall we?’

 

_Wake up!_

 

Sherlock tried. He gritted his teeth when he heard the unmistakable sound of a hand slapping John's face.  _Get up! For John. Get up. You can end this, get up now!_

 _  
_ But then... Sherlock froze when he heard the laptop's speakers flare to life. That voice! That damnable voice that haunted his nightmares. Sherlock's chest felt like it was going to explode, his breath rushing out of him in pants.  _Not again... not real. Not safe, but it isn't real. Mycroft got me out!_

'Да ли се сећате спаваш?'*

_Shut up... shut up..._

_'_ Да ли треба да покушамо да нађемо овом Јохн сте Сцреаминг Фор у сну ? Доведите га овде и тукли га ? Рапе га ? Управо овде у овој соби тако да можете гледати... _’**_

_SHUT UP!_

Sherlock grunted, his hands balled into trembling fists and suddenly Mary was there, right in front of him, on her knees. Smiling. 'Ah, there he is. Welcome to the party Sherlock. I've got a surprise for you.'

She moved out of his reach before he could raise his arms. Her movement cleared his line of sight and there... oh John. Breathing. Still breathing, though hurt - bruising on his cheeks, blood from his temple. He had been hit, multiple times. 

Sherlock would kill her for touching him. 

John was unshaven, tired but alert and oh his eyes. Sherlock wanted to drown in them. Crawl closer until there was no more telling where one ended and the other began. His John. 

 

One look was all it took and Mary saw it all. ’You knew! You knew he wasn't dead and what did you do? You spent all that time sulking because you had lost. The great Sherlock Holmes had been outsmarted. I mean isn't that why you turned back to the drugs? You failed John miserably.’ She now turned to John. ’See, I told you he is nothing. Inferior. Not even worth all the effort I've gone and put into this.’

 

It was John's turn to clench his fists and it didn't go unnoticed. She cackled at him. ’Really John.’ She hovered over him again, nuzzled her nose along his cheek back to his ear. ’You can change your mind. I will give you one last chance. You don't have to die with him. I can give you so much more, I can give you the world and the danger you so desperately crave.’ She licked the shell of his ear, making a show for Sherlock.

‘You can go fuck yourself,’ he snarled at her. ’When are you going to get it through your head? There is no other choice for me. It has and will always be Sherlock.’

 

Oh John. Brave John. Sherlock felt his eyes burn at the fierceness of John's voice. 

Mary pulled back from John, a snarl on her face. 'Fine!' she bit out and suddenly there was a gun. A gun, pointing at John and Sherlock felt his heart race. He needed to do something. Keep her busy until he do could something. Anything!

'You had me fooled.' Sherlock slurred. He kept his eyes on Mary. He needed to keep the threat in clear view, latch on to every piece of information she would give him. 'For three days I thought that Jim had won. Burned the heart out of me.'

Ah there. A glint of anger at the mere mention of Jim. He might have been a figurehead for her, to keep her own hands clean, but she wanted to get the credit she felt she deserved. 'You made a mistake with the bomb though...'

Mary barked out a harsh laugh. 'Stupid John had to spoil he was wearing the bloody vest. I had hoped he would have wanted you spared from knowing that. Nasty business if one gets blown up like that.'

'You'd know.'

'I do.'

Involved from the beginning then, Sherlock's mind concluded. The haze began to clear. Slowly, but it was there. 

But Mary's gun was still pointed at John's head. He needed it gone, get it towards him. He couldn't let John get hurt. Not again!

 

‘You know,’ John interrupted. ’What I don't get it why use Moriarty to begin with. I mean if you'd wanted Sherlock to know it was you, why even bother with someone like Jim? If Sherlock would have jumped that day. Jim would have gotten all the credit. No one would have known you had any involvement. So there has to be something more to you, else it's just all in your head. The feeling of self-importance, of being the best there is. Tell me? How does it work exactly? Because you want people to know it's you, yet no one has a clue that Mary Morstan or whatever the hell your real name is, even exists, much less runs some kind of master criminal empire. I think you fell a bit short really. Think on it, even Mycroft doesn't know who you are and he knows every player out there. And honey, I'm inferring that he doesn't know who you are because you're just not that noteworthy, not because you're that good.’

Mary's eyes went wide and the anger surged threw them and caused her to lash out at John, once again pistol whipping him. Maybe not the best move, but certainly a good one to keep her focus off Sherlock.

 

'Because Sherlock here didn't matter before, you idiot!' Mary snarled. She was losing control; Sherlock could hear it in her voice. It was dangerous, to antagonise her like that but it was their only chance. 

'For all his cleverness, he was hardly a blip on my radar. Jim didn't feel the same way. So I let him have his fun.'

Mary turned to Sherlock again. 'But then you had to make it personal. You drove him to suicide and then you went on and destroyed everything I worked for!' She shouted the last part and Sherlock winced. 'You left me no choice. So I went after your greatest weakness. And oh how easy it was Sherlock? Has Johnny told you? How all it took was a couple of kind words, cups of tea and some hot nights? All I had to do was to put up with him shouting for you in his sleep...'

Mary turned back to John. 'Pathetic.' 

She cocked her gun and moved next to John, looking at Sherlock. 'But enough. This ends tonight. But you get to choose, Sherlock dear. You first... or him.' 

 

John was fairly certain they could antagonise her all day, it was so easy but she was right this had gone on long enough. ’Still,’ John continued, ‘It must really get under your skin that the whole world knows who Jim Moriarty is, while they have no clue who you are, or that you even exist.’

‘John, you really shouldn't piss off the person who has the advantage, you do know that, don't you?’ She purred, leaning forward, putting her arm around him and moving around so she was standing behind him, lips level whit his ears and gun pointed at his head.

Sherlock had lifted his head now and was watching every movement between the pair like a hawk. Sherlock saw John nod his head ever so slightly, and that was it, it went unspoken between them. They were both ready to end this now.

 

‘Well, as you both like to point out to me on a fairly regular basis, I am an idiot.’ 

‘Oh, John,’ she let the hand that held the gun waver a bit, ‘I never called you an idiot at least not to your face anyway. In fact, I do actually rather enjoy your company though you have sort of ruined that by choosing him over me.’ 

And that's when John struck, he left his head fall forward and then with all his might pushed backwards with his feet, slamming her to the ground, the chair and his weight pinning her against the floor.

 

Sherlock felt his nerves trembling with anticipation and adrenaline. This was it. This was their moment and John seemed to feel it to.

One nod. Barely noticeable but it was there. And even if Sherlock had missed it, there was that look in his eyes. The same look John had when he had Moriarty in his arms and told him to run. The same look when they agreed to die together moments later to stop him. 

So when John moved his head forward and pushed back, Sherlock was out of his chair. 

His limbs still struggled with him. They seemed to scream at him to sit back down to recover but the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, yelling JohnJohnJohn was louder. He pushed on to take the gun away from her hands. 

But Mary was fast and John was still tied up. She pushed him off him, looked around to search for the gun which had fallen from her hands. Sherlock fell to his knees in an attempt to block her path and reached out towards it. They both reached and with their elbows and hands struggling, Sherlock realised she would gain the upper hand soon.

He was too weak, too drugged. But he couldn't give up. Not for John. Not for himself. He needed this to end. Now.

 

John knew Sherlock wasn't near ready to deal with Mary on his own so it was sheer luck that the arm of the chair broke and allowed him to get his left arm free. He quickly got his one leg free so he had a bit of mobility and launched himself towards Mary and Sherlock. He grabbed Mary by the leg and pulled her back towards him and then threw his weight on top of her trying to give Sherlock the advantage in getting the gun.

Mary then brought her attention to John and tried to get out of his grasp. He had somehow managed to wrap her legs between the chair and his free one, rendering her immobile for the most part until she pulled a knife.

 

The glint of the knife made Sherlock's heart stop. She was too close to John. Too close in succeeding to hurt him. Or kill him. 

 

Sherlock's hand found the gun and he turned to aim. 

'Drop it!'

Unable to move but Mary was far from incapacitated. Her knife was secure in her hand and far too close to John's neck. One slice, one hint of pressure and it'd be over. 'Mary...'

'I said... Drop. It. Now!'

But Sherlock didn't. He couldn't risk his one chance to get them out. Sherlock eyes met John's, begging him to understand, before he looked back at Mary. 

 

The room fell silent and that's when John heard it. The laptop was still playing, apparently she had set it in a repeat loop so that she could torture Sherlock further. He looked up to Sherlock who kept the gun pointed at Mary but it was quite apparent he could hear the laptop, his shoulder twitching each time he heard a pipe slap against his skin and the subsequent scream of pain that brought.

He knew they had few options left, so he caught Sherlock's eye, nodded and waited for Sherlock to nod, as if to say go ahead. That small nod was all it took. John mustered the strength he had and launched himself forward, catching Mary off guard and angling so the knife caught him in his bad arm, the upper inside area, while dislodging her from him, giving Sherlock the time he needed to line her up in the guns sights and pull the trigger.

 

 _Bang._ Another hit. The sound of the pipe swinging through the air again and...  _bang!_  

Sherlock gritted his teeth. It wasn't real. The pain wasn't real. It couldn't be real. 

So why was his body so determined to make him believe that it was? Why did it feel like his skin was being torn open all over again?

_'Do you remember sleep?'_

John. 

He had endured for John. Then and now. 

The gun was trembling in his hands when his eyes met John. One chance. Just one chance. 

John moved. And there were screams and blood and the sound of beatings, of his own grunts of pain. His own voice begging for them to stop. 

 

He needed to get out. He needed to end it. 

Mary's gaze met his. She was smiling again, challenging him.

Sherlock fired. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'Do you remember sleep?'
> 
> **'Should we try and find this John you’ve been screaming for in your sleep? Bring him here and beat him? Rape him? Right here in this room so you can watch…'
> 
> Credit goes to Google Translate.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Real life got in the way with both of us.

Mary’s now lifeless body fell on him in such a way that it drove the knife deeper into his arm, causing John to shriek in pain.

‘Christ!’ he screamed, trying to catch his breath and move, but it was useless, he was stuck. No matter how he moved, he couldn't get free. He looked over at Sherlock who still stood several feet away pointing the gun at her.

‘Sherlock, a little help please?’ he asked, motioning with his nearly free arm to the lifeless body of Mary on top of him. Though, his had wasn't free, the arm of the chair was bound to it and it looked like he held a pipe.

‘Sherlock!’ he yelled trying to capture the detective's attention ‘Help?’

That's when he saw the shift in Sherlock's demeanour and the gun's aim now dropped to him. John looked form the gun to himself and then his arm. He could hear still hear the laptop playing in the background and it all made sense. He lie completely back, let his arm dropped to the floor no matter how much pain it caused him and tried to keep Sherlock's focus on his eyes.

‘Sherlock, Sherlock, it's me. Please. You've won. Mary's dead. Now please can you help me?’

 

There was screaming, the smell of blood and sweat in the air. And the pain! 

Sherlock's body trembled with it, but he couldn't give up. He was still not safe. 

Mary was looking at him. Still looking at him with a smile on her face. 

_'Do you remember sleep?'_

'Sherlock!'

John's voice. 

No... it couldn't be. John wasn't here. He was safely at home. Mycroft had promised him. This was another trick. 

Sherlock moved the gun. He had to get out. Back to John. Back home. He had promised himself he would come back. 

 

Sherlock didn't lower the gun, in fact, John could see his finger resting on the trigger and not the guard. Fuck, this was really not good, not a good time for Sherlock to have an attack, but John couldn't blame him. No what John had to do now was hold it together and figure a way to get them past this.

‘Sherlock,’ he began, his voice steady and even, though the knife and Mary's position on his body made it very difficult. ’Remember when we were on the phone, you were in the morgue and I had gone after Mary?’

John paused, seeing if Sherlock would answer. There was no change in his stance and John could still hear that sodding laptop top looping that scene over and over.

‘Remember? And remember told you it was too late and you told me no it wasn't. Well for a few moments I gave up, but you were right. And you're here now. You're here to save me and all you have to do is turn that God forsaken laptop off and you'll see that you were right all along. That you could save me. Please Sherlock, please listen to your doctor. You know I would never lie to you.’

 

_My doctor. John. My friend. My... heart._

Sherlock blinked. He had come back. And he and John...

John!

The gun fell from Sherlock's hand and a sob was torn from him. _Oh God. I nearly... John!_

'John...'

Sherlock moved but he fell to his knees in exhaustion at the first step. But John was there. He was hurt and he needed to get closer. To see him, feel him. 

With all the strength he had, he pushed Mary away from him and with trembling hands he traced the knife in John's shoulder. 'John... I... what do I do? Oh God John, you're... I thought you were... I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I love you. I love you.'

He was rambling, his throat felt raw and his eyes burned with tears but John was here. He was touching him. Breathing. Alive. 

From far away they could hear sirens getting closer. They'd be safe. It was over. 

 

John let go of the breath he was holding when Sherlock finally dropped the gun, then he said a small prayer that it didn’t accidentally discharge.

 

By the time Sherlock reached him, he had managed to manoeuvre himself so he wasn't as in as much pain. He could feel the wet tears and the kisses all over his face as Sherlock clutched at him, muttering apologies. He tried to move his hand and reach out for Sherlock, but found he couldn't.

‘Sherlock,’ John said between well won kisses, ‘It would be nice if you could undo these binds, I can't feel my arms, or legs for that matter.’

Sherlock paused. His hands cupping John's cheeks and he let his forehead fall to John's to rest there a moment. He began to laugh and John joined him. They really shouldn't be laughing, not after all they'd been through but here they were at last, finally together, a bit banged up, but alive and in each other's arms.

 

'Right...' Sherlock breathed out and he pulled back a little. 'I'll... right.'

With great difficulty he managed to undo the binds around John's wrist and ankles before helping him sit up a little. 

They were still grinning when their eyes met and when John pulled him closer, Sherlock was already moving towards him. 

Their lips met with a clashing of teeth but they didn't care. How could they?

Sherlock's hands were cradling John's face pulling him back to him over and over.

It was desperate, this need to keep John as close to him as possible but John didn't seem to mind. And Sherlock couldn't stop. He kept whispering 'I love you' against John's lips and John kept saying them back. 

Safe. 

But then John hissed in pain and Sherlock pulled back a little without letting go. 'John... your arm!'

 

John chuckled. It hurt, but it really wasn't all that bad. He'd had worse and when Sherlock moved to pull the knife, John caught his wrist. He could hear the sirens and the commotion of all the people outside. He didn't care how they had found them, he just cared that they were here and that Sherlock was here.

‘Let's leave that for the paramedics, shall we? I love you and all, but I think we can leave the doctoring to someone else. Now come here you.’ He smirked, pulling Sherlock back to his lips. ’I don't ever want to go again without feeling your kisses.’ He said between breaths. ’I am so sorry I didn't listen to you and I promise...’ Sherlock cut him off by licking his lips.

‘I know,’ he said ‘and you don't have to worry because I am never letting you out of my sight again, John Watson.’

They both giggled at that, foreheads resting against each other and hands brushing cheeks and arms, the need to touch each other beyond all measure.

‘You know, if it wasn't for this knife in my arm and the fact that we both need medical attention, I'd sneak you off somewhere.’

‘Ahem,’ Mycroft interrupted loudly from the door.

‘God, I think I'm going to be sick,’ Lestrade mumbled as he walked out into the hallway.

 

'Shut up, the both of you,' Sherlock retorted without heat, still not taking his eyes away from John. 

Greg hovered in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him. God, they both looked dreadful. John's arm was bleeding and his face bore the marks of multiple hits. Blood had crusted on the side of his. But Sherlock, still pale and with bloodshot eyes, didn't seem to care. 

They kept their hands on each other and their gazes were locked as if in fear the other one would disappear again. 

And then there was Mary. Jesus fucking Christ. Mary.

She was shot, one single gun on the floor, completely forgotten. A laptop which... 'Oh Christ... Sherlock.'

Mycroft moved and slammed the laptop shut hard enough to make the screen crack.

'The paramedics are on their way. For both of you. John, can you stand?' Mycroft asked.

'I don't need medical help,' Sherlock protested. 'John is hurt. I'll be... I'll be fine once he is.'

 

‘I think I'll just sit here thanks,’ he replied to Mycroft, then looked to Sherlock. ’You are not fine. And if you ever pull another stunt like that again, I... I....’ his voice trailed off. He knew he couldn't finish that sentence, so he came up with another to take its place. ’I realise that you had your reasons for what you did back at the flat and I understand, but we will discuss that later.’ He stated, trying not to let his anger burn through at that moment. ‘I also want a full panel of blood work done on him once we get to the hospital.’

‘But,’ Sherlock interjected, but was too late.                                                           

‘No! I want every doubt completely eradicated from my mind that you are indeed out of danger. Mary, or whatever her real name was, injected you with something to get you here and I want to know for a fact that it has no long term effect and won’t interact with anything you’ve taken yourself. In fact the syringe should be lying around here somewhere.’

‘John,’

‘Sherlock, please, for me. I know you hate people fussing over you, but for once in your life, please, just do this for me.’

John's eyes started to feel heavy and that gave him pause a moment. He wasn't exactly feeling all too well at the moment and began to slump forward.

 

'John!'

Sherlock caught John, taking his weight in his arms to hold him up while the worry seized his throat. What if she drugged him, poisoned him? What if...

'Mycroft, the paramedics -'

But the sirens were close and Greg rushed downstairs to receive them. Sherlock took a deep breath as he carefully rubbed his hands over John's back, breathing in the smell of John's hair.

'It was fake John,' he whispered, 'She would never have come to me like she had if I didn't appear... weakened. I'm so sorry.'

'Sir, we need you to back away a little.'

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn't the fussing, not right now, he couldn't care about that, if only John would stay close to him. But he knew John would be taken away from him again. And that thought killed him. 

'These men need to stay close to each other at all times,' Mycroft intervened as one of the paramedics - female, nearing 40, three children and happily married for at least 15 years - kneeled down next to Sherlock. 

'You look about ready to drop,' she muttered, flickering her gaze between the two. 'You both are. We'll take care of you guys.'


	56. Chapter 56

The paramedics had protested - only a little - when Sherlock wouldn't be removed from John's side. In the end it had been easier to admit to Sherlock being the passenger than it had been to argue.

And so Sherlock had waited. John hadn't required surgery - thank God, the knife wound could be fixed by the attending A&E doctor with some stitches and a protocol on how to keep it clean; Sherlock hadn't even bothered to try and tell the man John was a doctor himself and would be perfectly able to take care of it himself. But there were the knocks to John's head to consider and the fact that John hadn't been able to stay conscious for long. Concussion was the most likely cause and they wanted to keep an eye on him. Just in case. 

The nurses had been kind enough; or Mycroft was surprisingly efficient for once. He and John shared a room and every test his doctor insisted on could be performed in that room. Sherlock didn't have to leave John behind for one moment. 

So he watched him. 

He watched as his light eyelashes began to flutter against his skin and he started making faces in discomfort before opening his eyes. He watched as John tried to sit up, fail and grunt in frustration. And Sherlock couldn't help but smile in relief. John was fighting. Already his stubbornness was rearing its head.

 

The next time John blinked his eyes, he was aware he was in different surroundings, from the smell alone he could tell the hospital and then he heard the constant drone and beep of monitors. He let his eyes slide shut again for just a moment until he remembered why it was he was in the hospital to begin with. He tried to sit up, but the pain that shot up his arm stopped him, he winced, then grunted and heard Sherlock chuckling a few feet to his left.

 

‘Use the remote for the bed,’ Sherlock said, his voice gravely and rough and still heavy from sleep.

‘Mmm, thanks,’ John replied, his own voice sounding foreign. He needed to be able to see Sherlock, even though he could hear him, it wasn't enough. When he finally found the controls and got the bed to a height where he could get a full view of his detective he was relieved. Then he remembered he was angry.

‘While I'm happy that you're apparently OK now and the drugs are out of your system, I swear to God if you ever do something like that again, Sherlock, I will come back and haunt you. What would you have done if you miscalculated the dose? You could have killed yourself. And where's Mycroft, I have some words for him. What the bloody hell was he thinking when he left you alone like that after having just confirmed.... I mean it's ludicrous. And don't think I won't be having words with all of them, really, the idea. How am I supposed to not worry about you now whenever we are apart for whatever reason?’

John looked at Sherlock now. Sherlock, who was sitting there laughing at him. Which only further enraged John.

‘What is so funny? You're high now, aren't you? Wait until I have a word with the nurses! Where's the bloody call button.’

 

Even when John ranted and raved, causing his heart rate to climb rapidly, Sherlock couldn't stop smiling. How close had he been to losing this? For days he had thought that he had. Lost his John forever. Lost his smiles, his kisses, his anger, his worry. His love. 

'Never thought I could have missed you being angry at me so much,' Sherlock rasped out.

 

‘That's all you have to say? One would think you'd be a little bit more, oh I don't know, sorry? Looking for forgiveness. Yet here you sit gleeful over the fact that I am angry with you. No, not just angry, livid. Sherlock, why on Earth would you do the one thing I asked you not to do? Why?’

Sherlock looked at John a bit baffled now, somehow he had lost where John had been heading with his current train of thought, and John realised it, and that hurt him even more than Sherlock taking the damn drugs.

‘I seriously can't believe you. You have no bloody idea what I'm talking about right now do you?’

 

'John... I...' 

Sherlock didn't understand. He had saved John, he had finished it all for them and he... oh. Mary. 

He had shot her. Killed her. And pointed the gun on John's head straight after. What if John hadn't wanted her dead? They had been engaged, no matter how short it might have been, John had once loved her enough to ask. What if...

'She was threatening you, John. I couldn't... I couldn't let her live and risking her escaping and doing it all over again.' 

 

John looked up to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Sherlock had totally missed the point, John could understand, this for the most part was new to Sherlock, and he really shouldn't be letting himself get this angry over it, they were both fine now, but he just couldn't let go of the fact that Sherlock turned to drugs the moment he thought John was lost to him forever. What if a situation like that happened again and he miscalculated the dose? Obviously he couldn't depend on anyone to keep their eye on him, not Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson. It shouldn't be their jobs. He had made Sherlock promise him to go on, to be better than that and not let Moriarty win and what did he do? He immediately turned back to the drugs.

 

‘Sherlock, don't get me wrong, I'm happy that she's dead, completely ecstatic in fact, but...’

‘Then I don't understand.’ Sherlock interjected.

‘Well if you let me finish,’ John nearly yelled. ‘I asked you, no, I made you promise me that you wouldn't let him win and what's the first thing you did. You went and got high! How do you think that makes me feel? Hmmm? What happens the next time something like this happens? Am I supposed to believe you won't turn around and do the exact same thing?’

 

Sherlock stared. 

 

John was angry at him... for getting high? For turning to the drugs at the first available opportunity. Sherlock shook his head. 'Three days...' he gritted out, voice laced with disbelief. 'For three days I thought you were dead. Blown to bits so small we would never be able to find you again. And I hated myself for it. I wanted it to end. Every minute I could hear your voice on the other end of that line, saying goodbye to me. I didn't... didn't you hear me, back there? I told you it was fake.'

But Sherlock could see and feel John's body sag against him, from exhaustion and pain. He hadn't heard him. The moment the paramedics arrived, John had been completely out of it. He hadn't bloody heard him. 

'It wasn't real. That moment, when you saw me - and I'm sorry John, I'm so sorry for not knowing sooner - was the moment I knew you were still alive. In the hands of a psychopath. I needed to appear weak. Vulnerable. I couldn't let you stay there alone for one second longer.' Sherlock turned and grabbed his own chart from the back of his bed and threw it to John. He had suspected John might be angry, but it hurt more than Sherlock anticipated. 

He wanted John to trust him and now, at the first sign of doubt, John fell for it. 

'I had to draw her out... but that wasn't real. Saline. You know I keep it in the flat...'

 

John sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, then winced again because fuck if that didn't hurt his arm, but that really didn't matter because he had hurt Sherlock more by just assuming facts instead of asking for answers. He looked at the chart that lie against his legs now. He didn't need to look at it. In fact he should have known better. He couldn't believe how foolish he was acting right now.

He looked over to Sherlock who was now looking away from him. ’Sherlock.’

 

He didn't move, didn't turn to look at John, didn't even acknowledged that he had heard John speak his name. ’Sherlock, please, look at me. Please?’

Still nothing. Right then John thought. Hard way it is then. He moved the covers of his legs and swung them of the side of his bed. He looked down at the IV line attached to his arm that was easy enough, drag it with him. He'd probably need it for support anyway, though there was only what, three feet between them? Didn't matter, he stood and gave himself a moment to gain his bearings and then took the few steps till he was by Sherlock's bedside. When he dropped down on the mattress, Sherlock finally looked at him, concerned that he was out of bed.

Before Sherlock could utter a word, John held his finger up to his lips and then cupped his cheeks as he began to speak.

‘I'm sorry. I don't need that chart to tell me there wasn't anything in your system other than what she gave you and I'm sorry for thinking you'd gone right back to your old habits. I know you're stronger than that. I had seen it in the months prior to all of this happening. I saw how you crawled back from the edge of that abyss she had pushed you to and I'm sorry for allowing myself to think she'd done it again. Please forgive me.’

 

‘It was just a sedative,’ Sherlock murmured, leaning into John's touch as he felt the anger dissolve. Mycroft had warned him this was a risk. That John would believe him. He hadn't expected for it to hit him so hard. 

He shook his head. 'Mycroft warned me for this... I shouldn't be upset. Especially not... I thought I had lost you, John.'

Sherlock reached out and traced the lines of John's neck, pausing for a moment so he could feel John's heartbeat against his fingers. 'I'm sorry for scaring you like that, but it was the only way. She never would have come to me if I hadn't and you'd still be...' 

 

‘I know, I know,’ he apologised brushing the stray tear that had fallen to Sherlock's cheek. ’I shouldn't be taking my anger out on you. It's just hitting me all at once now that this is all over and it's hard because my mind keeps thinking it has to deal with this on my own, but I know I don't have to because I have you and we're together. We need to deal with this together and I hope that we can do that together.’

He drew in a shaky breath, trying not to let the tears fall, but did it really matter if they did? ’And I know if circumstances would have been different, I would have known it was all part of the game. I should have never assumed the worst, but I know all too well what it's like to think half of you is gone, I lived it for two years. I can't imagine what those days must have been like for you because I know you Sherlock. I know exactly how you get and I know you shut everyone else out. And I also know what the mind can drive you to think about in those times, I just...it all looked so real and felt so real and it felt almost like I was being forced to watch you jump from Bart's again and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Plus it was all my fault because I played right into her hands and I just...’ John paused again and opened his, searching for Sherlock's who just watched him quietly.

Now that their eyes finally met, John felt a bit of relief. For several moments he thought Sherlock might stay mad at him for thinking the worse, that he might be reconsidering their new relationship.

‘Look, I know this is still new. I just can't lose you ever again. Promise me...’ but he couldn't say anything else, he didn't need to. Instead he pulled Sherlock's lips to his and kissed him.

 

‘Never… John, I’m sorry.’

Sherlock grabbed John’s hospital gown to pull him closer. Their teeth clashed when their mouths met but Sherlock didn’t care. He didn’t care because John was right here in his arms. Their lips met over and over again and it wasn’t enough. Sherlock needed him closer, needed to feel him in every fibre of his skin.

‘Never, John…’ Sherlock gasped out when they parted for breath. ‘I am never letting you go… I’m sorry for hurting you.’ Their lips met again but Sherlock didn’t stop talking. ‘I’m sorry for scaring you. Never again… Just us.’

And it was. Just them. Finally, after everything, it was just them again. They had made it through together.

 

Somehow John ended up curled next to Sherlock in his hospital bed, it really was ludicrous how tiny these damn beds were, but somehow they both managed to fit and even more amazingly they managed not to tangle their IV lines or set off any monitors that had the nurses rushing in to check on them.

They clung to each other and kissed languorously as they murmured promises to each other and the next thing Sherlock knew was John had drifted off again, which had suited him because he was loathe to admit that his eyelids were getting heavy as well. Moments later, he had followed suit and the two men slept the rest of the morning away.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 000 hits! You guys are amazing. Thank you for sticking with us for so long. We're nearly there...

It was after lunch that Mycroft and Lestrade decided enough time had passed and decided to pay the duo a visit and it did not surprise them to find the pair crammed into the small bed arms wrapped tightly around the other.

 

Lestrade looked at Mycroft, ‘Should we wake them or come back?’

 

To watch his little brother and John together in the same bed like that, clinging to each other even in sleep, Mycroft was almost tempted to let them sleep. They had deserved it more than anybody else. 

Mycroft hadn't forgotten the look on Sherlock's face after the phone call where John was forced to say goodbye. He hadn't forgotten the utter fear of losing Sherlock to his grief in the days that followed. And now, the tightness in his chest unravelled. They would be alright. They would recover from this. 

He opened his mouth to suggest retreating for the time being, but the sudden tensing of Sherlock's body told him he was already too late. 

'It's us, Sherlock,' he said gently, hoping he wouldn't wake John as well. 

Sherlock opened his eyes, and Mycroft pretended not to see the sigh of relief that escaped his little brother. 'Mycroft. Lestrade.' 

They didn't need to say anything. They never had. Even Lestrade got what wasn't spoken out loud; he nodded towards Sherlock with something akin to fondness in his eyes. 'Want us to come back later?' he asked and Sherlock looked down to John. They would need to get the statements over with as soon as possible anyway and Sherlock had to admit; he was curious about what had happened while he was gone. 

But they needed the rest. 

 

‘Might as well do it now, I'm awake,’ John muttered, but made no attempt to move.

‘Are you sure? A few hours won't hurt and we've basically filled in everything except what happened after Mary took Sherlock.’ Lestrade offered.

‘It's fine,’ John assured him, ‘besides I'm relatively certain Sherlock wants to know how you found us, and the sooner we get this over with the sooner maybe you can arrange to get us out of here Mycroft?’ John queried, not really wanting to be confined in the hospital or anywhere else for that matter. He had had enough of things being out of his control. He started to try to sit up, but Sherlock's grip on him tightened, he was reluctant to let go now that John was in his arms again and John just grinned and stayed where he was. There really was no reason that he needed to sit up or move for that matter.

 

Mycroft inclined his head with a soft smile. 'Naturally, John.' It was the least he could do for them. They needed the quiet of home more than the coldness of a hospital. And more importantly, they needed to be together. 

 

Sherlock looked down to John, as Mycroft and Lestrade entered the hospital room and settled on the chairs. 

Sherlock was stroking his thumb over John's spine. 'Are you sure, John?' he asked softly. 'We don't need to do this right now.'

 

‘No, really, we do. I want out of here. So what do you need to know?’ John replied, acting as though it was his first time making a statement and Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle which in turn made John laugh.

So they spent the next two hours recounting what had gone on, John starting and Sherlock finishing. They of course had left out some of the more personal details and Lestrade didn't ask, Sherlock however could tell Mycroft was curious and just shook his head, indicating that was a topic off limits. Mycroft nodded and it was forgotten.

‘So,’ John mumbled, his speech beginning to slur from weariness, ‘how did you finally figure out where we were?’

 

'We found the mole,' Mycroft explained and Sherlock straightened himself a little in curiosity. 'Anthea called when we had left your room; she had found him on the CCTV. We returned to your room to find you missing.'

Mycroft and Sherlock shared a look. 'No sign of struggle, no clue as to where you might have gone. We thought...'

'That I had went off on my own,' Sherlock finished and Mycroft nodded. Sherlock couldn't blame him for thinking that. He would have done that if things had been moving too slowly. 

'We suspected that had been the case until one of the inspector's men showed up and told us you had been wheeled out of your room by a nurse. What...'

'She threatened me,' Sherlock explained. 'Well, not so much as threatened,' he quickly added when he felt John tense up, 'but she persuaded me. Once I sat in the chair, she drugged me. She was counting on me being high but she brought a little insurance along with her anyway. Unfortunately.'

'Right.' Lestrade muttered. 'We figured as much as soon as your test results came back.'

 

'In any case, Anthea apprehended the mole and... persuaded him to talk.' Sherlock smiled briefly at that. Anthea could be vicious if she choose to be. 'That, in combination with the files we found on the laptop, was enough to pinpoint you down.'

 

‘Great, now that that's all settled, when can we get out of here?’ John questioned.

Sherlock laughed, running his fingers down John's back to soothe him.

‘Oh stop, this isn't funny. I for one am tired of not being in control of what I can and can't do. I can recuperate at home just as well as I can here and even though I haven't seen my chart, I know the extent of my injuries aren't that bad and I should be out of danger from any complications due to the concussions I've suffered.’

‘Home, yes, well, that may not be quite as enjoyable as it sounds,’ Mycroft began.

‘Why? What do you mean?’ Sherlock asked, sitting up straighter, worry etching his features.

‘Not to worry little brother, it's not as bad as it sounds. It's just i think you will find that 221B may not be as quiet as you like. I think you may have forgotten that during all this all of London is now aware that you are alive and well and while there has been a preliminary release to the press answering some questions, the media is still camped out on the pavement at Baker Street. I've advised Mrs. Hudson to make arrangements to stay with her sister until the frenzy is over and that could be quite a while. Plus I also want to send in a team to sweep the entire building from top to bottom for cameras and other surveillance devices.’

 

Sherlock scowled. He  _had_ forgotten.

Of course the media would be desperate for an ‘all exclusive interview’. There no was not just his miraculous rise from the dead to talk about, nor ‘Moriarty’s’ return, but also his apparent relapse. And the death of John Watson.

No, rest would not return to Baker Street for a while.

‘Fine…’ Sherlock relented. ‘Sussex. Your cottage there. It should do well enough to keep us away from the media.’

Mycroft gave Sherlock a pointed look that Sherlock refused to acknowledge as he went on talking. ‘Has Mrs Hudson left yet?’

Mycroft couldn’t supress the grin that formed on his face. ‘It appears your landlady will not leave before seeing you. Apparently… she needs to make something very clear to you.’

Sherlock grimaced.

 

John flinched as well. He hated to be a source of worry for Mrs. Hudson and he figured this had probably driven her right to the edge and that it would take a small miracle to get back into her good graces once again. He suppressed a groan and looked at Sherlock then Mycroft waiting for either of them to jump in with a proposal. When it was apparent that neither was going to speak John groaned and looked at Mycroft.

‘Make it happen, do whatever it is you need to do to arrange things. Bring Mrs. Hudson here and get someone to pack our things and make it quick. I want out of this place tonight.’ John sighed as he closed his eyes and lied back down. His head was beginning to pound and being far away from London and everything here sounded really appealing right now. When he hadn't heard the door, he opened his eyes and found everyone looking at him. ’What? Go, I'm serious. I'm sure you don't want me getting up from this bed and making a scene.’

 

Sherlock couldn't help it; he smiled. 

Mycroft looked like he had been forced to eat a lemon. Sherlock knew he hated to be ordered around and he could barely stand Sherlock's stubbornness at the best of time. John's stubbornness however, was a completely more vicious beast. 

Lestrade was the first one to give in to John's commanding gaze. 'I should be going anyway. I'll pick up Mrs. Hudson, alright?'

Sherlock nodded in silent gratitude. as Mycroft followed Lestrade to the door. 'Sussex it is then,' he relented. 'Do try and keep my kitchen intact this time, please Sherlock.'


	58. Chapter 58

It was after dinner and John was pacing sans IV, at least that had been bloody taken care of after an hour of haranguing the hospital staff, grumbling to himself.

‘How bloody long does it really take? I mean your brother is the British government for God's sake.’ John groused in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock just smiled and kept his nose in the paper he'd been 'reading' for the last hour. ’I'm sure he's just taking the necessary precautions while arranging everything to make sure it is secure.’

John looked at him almost panicked and when Sherlock realised what he had just mistakenly implied. He rose and was by John's side, wrapping his arms around him and soothing him. ’The media, keeping the media away is all I meant. I swear.’

‘I know,’ John breathed out. ’I know, I just...’ 

They were interrupted when the door opened and in walked Lestrade with a docile Mrs. Hudson. ’Oh boys!’ She exclaimed, relief strong in her voice. She was immediately by their sides, her arms thrown around them, hugging her boys. ’So help me the two of you ever...’ her voice now quavering. She leaned back and looked up at Sherlock. ’And you, if you ever lie to me again!’

He couldn't help but chuckled because he knew deep down she really did understand the necessity and forgive him, them both in a manner of minutes.

John straightened and cleared his throat, running his hand up over the back of his neck. ’Sorry.’ he managed to reply weakly, still shook up from the thoughts he was having prior to her arrival.

‘Oh dear, I've interrupted something, haven't I?

 

'Nothing more than usual, Mrs. Hudson.' Sherlock replied with a soft smile towards her. 

'Oh you two...'

Mrs. Hudson grabbed them both again, hugging them and Sherlock felt his affection for her settle warm in his gut. She was their landlady only, she should not have mattered have much as she did. But ever since he met her in Florida and he had seen her misery with her husband, he had felt the need to protect her. And she had felt the same. 

Mrs. Hudson had no children of her own but she had concerned herself over him like a mother would have done. And Sherlock surprised himself then; he had welcomed her fretting. 

Now he and John were, in fact, her boys. 

'But don't you ever,' and Mrs. Hudson jabbed her finger to Sherlock's chest, 'ever do that to me again, young man! We were worried sick about you after... oh John, dear.'

Oh God. Tears. Sherlock couldn't stand to see her cry. 'I am sorry, Mrs. Hudson, truly, I am. But if I hadn't...'

'Oh I know, you silly thing. That nice detective explained enough. But... oh, you scared ten years of me, I'm sure.'

 

John cleared his throat. ‘Well I can personally assure you that you will not have to worry about us at any great lengths for the near future. We are going on...’ He paused. ’Well I guess you could call it a holiday until all this nonsense blows over. So we will be far away from anywhere he can get in trouble.’ John finished grinning.

 

She looked between the pair of them trying to keep the dismayed look from her face, after all they'd been through they deserved this but a bit of concern painted her face. 

‘What's that look for?’ John questioned her.

‘Well dear, you do realize this is Sherlock we are talking about. Trouble seems to follow him.’

It was John's turn to chuckle and grin. ‘As true as that may be, where we are off to, there's nothing around for miles and I've got a list of things for him and I to do. There's plenty to keep him busy.’

Mrs. Hudson blushed, and the door pushed open revealing one late and put off Mycroft Holmes. 

‘Finally!’ John said raising his arms to the ceiling. ‘Please tell me this means we can get out of here. No offence, Mrs. Hudson.’

John said, quickly remembering she was still there. 

‘None taken dear,’ she said patting his arm. ‘After what the two of you have been through, I'd want out of this town sooner rather than later myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I must get going, it will be late as it is getting to my sister's. Please call me when it's safe to return to Baker Street.’ She remarked, looking at Mycroft. 

She then turned back to the boys, ‘and you two, I don't expect to see you for at least a month or better.’ She smiled. ‘There's no rush for the pair of you to get back to work, take this time and enjoy each other and all the time you missed together. Lord knows this town isn't going anywhere.’ She smiled one last time and then kissed each of them on the cheek and gave them each a hug. ‘I mean it.’ She stated from the doorway. ‘At least a month.’

John chuckled and Sherlock stood there looking a tad affronted.

‘She does make a very good point.’ John agreed, turning towards Sherlock now and waiting for him to start listing off all the ways Mrs. Hudson was being ridiculous in her thinking. 

 

'A month, John!'

It was silly, Sherlock knew that. After all they had been through, some time away from London and the media circus that was brewing, sounded absolutely marvellous. But Sussex. A full month. The last time he had nearly exploded the kitchen out of sheer boredom. And that was after a week!

Although he hadn't been there voluntarily at that time. 

And he had been alone. 

The prospect of some time alone with John after all they had gone through...

Perhaps a month was doable. 

'The car is ready for you both,' Mycroft told him after he assured Mrs Hudson that, yes, he would call once things had quieted down a bit. 

 

‘Well it took you bloody long enough,' John grumbled as he took the bag of clothes that Mycroft was carrying. He wasn't sure where the clothes were he came in were but they could burn them for all he cared. 

Mycroft nodded. ‘Yes, sorry about that but to secure your release I had to make some arrangements that you will abide too or you'll have to stay here a few days longer.’

John stopped pulling the clothing out of the bag and turned to look at Mycroft. 

Sherlock spoke before John had a chance, trying to prevent an argument between the pair. ‘And what arrangements would those be?’ He asked as he moved behind John and brushed his fingers up and down John's side. 

‘Nothing too dire. As you know, doctors sometimes make the worst patients so they are willing to release you as long as you abide by a few conditions. Every morning for the next week, there will be a doctor, I've already secured the best, that will come to check on the pair of you to make sure you aren't suffering any ill effects from your ordeal. John we know you were missing for three days, but since you can't remember much of that time due to the fact she was keeping you sedated most of the time, the doctors are concerned.’

‘It's nothing. I'm fine,’ he said, his fists curling into balls at his side. 

Sherlock now wrapped his arms around John's waist and lowered his head to John's shoulder. They hadn't really talked about any of this yet, other than in the statements they had given early.

‘Yes and were it not for the fact that you sustained several blows to the head that we know of, it would not be an issue. We just want to ensure your on-going health. Other than that, there are a few other rules I have but they are mostly for Sherlock. Do we have an agreement?’

‘Could we make it every other day? I feel perfectly fine.’ John asked instead of demanding. 

‘John..’ Sherlock chastised as he gripped his arm tighter and John knew exactly what he would say and he was right. It was silly to argue over and if it was only one of a few conditions he could put up with it for the week

He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Ok. Yes. Fine, your right I just want out of here. Now can we please have some privacy to change?’

Mycroft nodded. ‘I'll wait in the hallway.’

 

Sherlock watched Mycroft leave as he continued to hold John and stroke John's arm soothingly. He could feel John's frustration in the tension of his shoulders. Sherlock couldn't see his face but he knew John's dark expressions well. 

Sherlock lowered his head and kissed the top of John's shoulder softly. 'Just one week,' he murmured. 'Just to be safe, John. He'll be checking up on me too.' And although he hated the idea of someone other than John taking care of him, he knew it would help John accept the invasion of their privacy a little easier. 

 

John allowed himself a moment to relax and sag back into Sherlock's touch before turning around and letting his hands wrap around the taller man's waist in a loose embrace. He nuzzled into his neck, soaking in the comfort Sherlock was providing. This was an interesting turn of events he smiled to himself, normally it would be Sherlock protesting yet here it was John making the biggest fit and Sherlock allowing him the rare luxury without any making any snide remarks or giving him grief about it. 

‘I know, I know. I just want every reminder of this to be gone. I don't want to have to think on it anymore. I just want, I just want. ...’ He had to stop, he could feel the tears threatening to rise and he swore he was not going to do this here, not in the hospital because if they saw how deeply this ran, they would surely make him stay. He could do this and get through this on his own, well not in his own - with Sherlock - they would be OK, they just needed far away from all of this.

 

Sherlock knew. He understood. The fact that they were here, in the coldness of the hospital, instead of the warm safety of their home, was enough to make his nerves feel raw and ache. The mere sight of John, still in his hospital gown, reminded him how close he had been to losing him. And John wasn't fine yet either. He clung to Sherlock, struggling to maintain his composure and Sherlock could do nothing more but hold him. 

It felt... different. John was the caretaker and after his return, Sherlock had grown accustomed to John comforting him, holding him - even when they slept. With their positions reversed, Sherlock felt out of his depth. But he tried. 'We're nearly gone from here, John,' he whispered. 'You'll... you'll like Sussex I think. The cottage is nice. Quiet. It even has two fridges; Mycroft bought another one after I contaminated his food once too often.' 

 

The crack about the refrigerators actually made John laugh and everything seemed normal again, even if only for a few seconds. John squeezed him tight and then stood up on his toes to give Sherlock a quick kiss. He put his hands on Sherlock's cheeks, amused at the stubble he could feel now at his fingertips. He scratched his fingers through it and drifted back towards his lips for another. 

'Mmmm,' he hummed through the kiss. 'This is different.' He let their foreheads come together. 'So this cottage, sounds interesting. Promise to tell me all about on our way there?’

He stepped back and looked up at Sherlock, allowing their eyes to lock. So much had changed between them since Sherlock had come back yet so much had not and this was definitely different, Sherlock comforting him, openly. This was something he could definitely get used to. 

 

Sherlock had tried to ignore the itching on his cheeks, but with John's fingers sliding across the stubble, it was hard not to notice it. He didn't like it. It was distracting, itching and frankly, he avoiding looking to himself in the mirror. The stubble made his face appear even longer, his cheekbones more pronounced. Even more freakish. 

But John was smiling at him, his fingers kept stroking the hairs and when he stepped back, he seemed... pleased? Odd. Did he like it? Oh he hoped not. Although... there was something about kissing John - whose cheeks had gone unshaven for longer than his had - like this. 

'The moment we get to the cottage, I'm shaving,' Sherlock announced, rubbing his cheeks. 'It itches.'


	59. Chapter 59

The desire to be free of the hospital and prying eyes finally caught up with them causing them to quickly change and sign the release papers and agree to whatever other ridiculous demands Mycroft made and they soon found themselves in the back of a sedan, headed for Sussex. 

‘I just hoped whoever packed our things did a good job.’ John mumbled as he snuggled in close to Sherlock's side, getting comfortable. He looked out the window, watching the city pass by and then had a few thoughts, but chose not to voice them, they weren't important and it could wait until tomorrow. 

He reached for Sherlock’s hand and wove their fingers together, bringing his gaze to meet Sherlock's. ‘I seemed to recall you said you'd tell me all about Sussex. Seems we have the time now.’ John said smiling. 

 

Sherlock smiled and began telling John the history of the cottage, but it had been a long day and as hard as he tried, John couldn't help his eyes sliding shut, Sherlock's voice and the smooth ride of the vehicle rocking him to sleep. Sherlock only smiled when he noticed and kept talking to make sure bad dreams stayed far away from his love as he wrapped his arm tighter around the doctor's waist and held him close. 

 

With the hospital and London now far behind them and the hills of the English countryside gliding by them, Sherlock began to doze as well. He still held John closely to him, matching his breathing with his, counting the beats of his heart on a whisper. He drifted between sleep and consciousness, never fully relaxing enough to let himself drift off. 

Over an hour had passed since they left the hospital and Sherlock began to recognise the landscape around them. He gently stirred John to wake him up. 'John, we're nearly here.'

And they were. It didn't take long before the cottage came into view. Close to the sea and although there were other houses in view, the cottage stood on its own, surrounded by tall hedges and walls which had the same pale colour as the house itself. The last time Sherlock had laid eyes upon it, it had appeared to him like a prison. He had been high still, protesting every step of the way, furious with his brother and his insistence to meddle. Now, as he watched John's eyes light up at the sight of the cottage, it felt strangely akin to coming home. 

 

John couldn't believe his eyes as he blinked the sleep away. He expected small when Sherlock keep saying cottage but he should have known better. It wasn’t that the place was overly opulent, it just wasn't what John had been expecting. Two stories of brick quaintness, he couldn't wait to see the inside now. The driver pulled into the driveway and lowered the petition, ‘Here we are then, I will get your bags from the trunk, but first I have some information for you. There is a sedan in the garage for you to use if the need arises, and the security code is the same as last time, sir. Your brother advised me to have you change it upon your arrival, there are instructions in the kitchen. The kitchen is fully stocked so you shouldn't need to run to the store this evening for any necessities. If that's all, I will help you with your bags and then I will be out of your hair.’

‘Thank you Arthur,’ Sherlock said quietly as John sat up and moved back to stretch.

When they exited the car they stood there a few moments so John could just take it all in. He scanned the property around the cottage, while they weren't in the middle of nowhere, they were a good distance from any neighbours and John smiled, pleased. ’This is amazing.’

‘Come on,’ Sherlock said, stretching his hand out, lacing it with John's and dragging him to the side door.

Soon enough, John found himself in the kitchen, making them tea, while Sherlock accompanied Arthur back to the door and proceeded to change the security codes and make a quick sweep of the house.

John took a few moments to take stock and was truly impressed when he came to the refrigerators - two just as Sherlock had said - and marvelled over the contents. The main refrigerator was well stocked with all kinds of food, they wouldn't have to go anywhere for at least several days. He got a chuckle when he opened the smaller refrigerator, three containers of milk, several different sets of slides and a variety of body parts for experiments. Yes, Mycroft had done well. He needn't bother looking in the cupboards, he was sure they were stocked as well with a good assortment.

 

After Arthur had left them alone in the cottage, Sherlock made a beeline for the bathroom, abandoning their luggage in the hallway. That could wait. First things first...

He could hear John in the kitchen, checking the cupboards and readying the kettle. Plenty of time then. 

Sherlock got rid of his shirt, grabbed the shaving cream and began. He didn't pause too long at the signs of exhaustion and grief still visible on his face. That was over now. It was over. He'd be fine. They both would be. 

With his face freshly shaven and his face washed, he went back to the kitchen where John had filled the tray.  

As John was pouring the tea and getting the tray ready to go look for Sherlock, the man rounded the corner.

John smiled motioning to the tray that held an assortment of snacks and tea. ’How about we just take this to the bedroom and turn in for the evening?’

Sherlock smiled. 'Sounds like a plan. You slept rather deeply in the car. Are you still tired?' He took the tray from John so he wouldn't over exert his still injured arm. 

 

John thanked him as Sherlock took the tray and led the way to the bedroom.

‘It's not that I'm tired, I just thought that it would be nice to get out of our clothes and get comfortable and just lounge about and be close. We haven't really had that since all this ended, with being stuck in the hospital. I just think we both need to relax and just be with one another. Not start on anything else like experiments or anything of the sort.’

He saw the scowl on Sherlock's face and instantly felt bad. ’I didn't mean it like that. I want to enjoy time alone with you without having to worry about anything else. And I promise I won't push you to talk about anything, I really just want to relax and hold you close. Just to have you in my arms and know that everything is over for good and not have to worry about any bloody thing.’

 

'I wasn't about to start some experiment.'

He might have once. After a case, when his brain was already rushing forward to find new ways of stimulation. In a time before he could turn to John like he could now. But right now, the thought of experiments and cases made him bone tired. 

Sharing a bed, a comfortable bed at last, with John... Sherlock couldn't think of anything else. 

Sherlock set the tray down on the nightstand before turning back to John. 

'Don't.'

John's hands, which had moved to his shirt to undo the buttons froze. Sherlock moved closer and gently pushed his hands away. 'I... I want to do that.'

It was more than just helping John so he wouldn't hurt himself. John could feel it in the way Sherlock' fingers lingered on every patch of exposed skin as Sherlock undressed him. In the hitch of Sherlock's breath at the sight of the bruises on John's side. Sherlock was memorising him. Cataloguing every injury and blaming himself for every single one of them. 

This was Sherlock falling in love with him all over again. 

 

John stood there, exhaling softly as Sherlock's fingers swept over his entire body. His eyes fell shut and he smiled as Sherlock's hand skimmed up his sides again. His hands automatically reaching out and now lightly skimming over Sherlock's hands. He chuckled as Sherlock's hands came to a halt, he then skimmed his fingers down the rest of the length of Sherlock's fingers and then laced them together. He then took a step closer, closing the distance between them and looked up into those endless blue eyes.

‘Forgive me for implying that you'd just run off and start some...’ John was cut off when Sherlock leaned down and pressed their lips together lightly. When he pulled back, John stood on his tiptoes to follow those lips, he wanted more. In fact, there was nothing more he wanted right now than to be lying on the bed, enveloped in Sherlock's arms and completely lost in those lips until they both drift off to sleep. He smiled as their lips connected again and then chuckled as he began moving Sherlock backwards towards the bed.

When the back of Sherlock's legs made contact with the bed, John smiled. ’My turn to help you.’ He whispered, running his fingers down the front of Sherlock's shirt, popping buttons as he went. He pushed the soft fabric off his shoulders and let the shirt drop to the floor. He sighed and let his head drop to Sherlock's chest as all the thoughts from the past few days caught up with him. At one point he had been afraid they'd never have this again, yet here they were, face to face, able to reach out and touch and hold and just marvel in being together.

He fought back the tears that threatened to fall again and looked back up at Sherlock. ’I'm sorry, I just, I never doubted that you'd figure it out and come after me, but for a few moments I never thought I'd ever get this chance again. Not because you didn't come after me, but because she...’ he couldn't finish the sentence. In fact he knew he needn't. He knew his point had been made but he felt like he owed Sherlock some sort of apology or explanation, perhaps both before they could move past this.

He cleared his throat. ’Look all I want to do is apologise for bringing that mess into our lives and I promise as long as we both live it will never happen again.’

 

'John... listen to me. None of this was your fault,' Sherlock vowed. He cradled John's face with his hands, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. 'How were you to know what she... that she was... Mycroft should have seen. I should have seen. But we were so fixed on Moriarty that we missed... we overlooked her. After that phone call -' Sherlock's throat closed and he swallowed the lump away. 'I gave up. And you had to go through it. I forced you to watch as I fell and I forced you to go on alone. John Watson, you are a braver and stronger man than I can ever be and I'm sorry. I truly am. For making you go through that for so long. And to have you here, now, after everything... I don't think I can ever let you go.'  
  
Sherlock inhaled deeply, realising the truth of his own words. A life without John in it, was a life not worth having.   
  
Sherlock sat down on the bed, pulling John with him and they both settled in each other’s arms, holding. Clinging to one another, desperate for touch. 

 

John drew in a sharp breath of air and held his tears, ‘Well, that's good because I don't ever plan on letting you go either.’ He reached up and covered the hands that still cradled his face. ’I just want you to know that I don't... I mean that I'm not angry at you or holding it in and burying it. We both messed up. I don't blame you and I guess deep down I don't blame myself either. True, we could have done some things differently or better if we knew then what we know now, but we can't change that.’

He leaned up and kissed Sherlock's cheek and then crawled up the bed, taking Sherlock with him so they could recline against the pillows. ’How about this, let's chalk this up as one very hard learned lesson. One that doesn't need repeating. I need you to know that I'm not angry - at least not at you. Over the next few days, I imagine we are both going to run the gamut emotion wise and we need to. When it comes, we need to let all those emotions out, even if it means we stand here screaming at one another. We can't hold any of it in. Promise me you won't. If you need to talk we will talk, and I promise to let you know if I need to.’

 

Sherlock nodded, unable to form any words. He would talk. Things had gone horribly bad before because he hadn't trusted John with his fears and doubts. And ever since he came back, it was John and his talking that had kept him sane.   
He wouldn't risk it now.   
He wouldn't shut John out. Not this time. Mary, even in death, could not win.   
  
'I already shouted at Mycroft,' Sherlock confessed, with a soft smile and his nose buried in John's hair. 'When you were still out. I refrained myself from punching him though; I thought you should have the honours if you felt like it. He did apologise and he did it again when he allowed us to be sent here. Mycroft rather likes this place for himself.' 

 

John chuckled. He couldn't help himself. ’Thanks, but if I start, it might not be pretty. Besides, I think it gets under his skin more when I keep my temper in check around him. He never quite knows what to expect then. But all joking aside, I don't want us not to work because we're too damn stubborn to talk about things.’ He ran his hand over Sherlock's chest, letting his fingers brush lightly over the skin.

‘I know it's not easy for either of us. I just want us to be on the same page. That's all I want Sherlock. To know that you're here by my side and that I'm by yours, and there's nothing left that we question about each other. I know now that I don't need to lie here and wonder how you feel about me, I know you love me and I don't question it. I just want you to know I feel the same way. No matter what has happened or what's gone on, nothing has changed.’ He was now tracing patterns over Sherlock's chest. ’I just worry that we fall back into that habit and that's something I don't want. So if need be, I will call you out and I expect the same from you if I start to do the same.’

He pushed himself up and kissed Sherlock softly, brushing his fingers over Sherlock's cheek. ’I don't ever want us to come that close to losing all this ever again.’

 

Sherlock returned the gesture, nodding weakly as his lips still brushed John's. 'Never again. You... I couldn't do without you John. I do love you, so much it would have frightened me before. You make me a better man than I ever thought I could be. Stronger. Smarter, and that alone is a considerable feat.'  
  
Sherlock hesitated for a second before going on. 'And because of it you are my greatest weakness. Mary, Moriarty... they all knew how to break me. So I will never stop trying to protect you. But I will never leave you behind like I did before. I promise.'

 

John settled back a bit, crossing his arms over Sherlock's chest and letting his chin come to rest there, never taking breaking his gaze with Sherlock.

‘“Don’t worry, I know you won’t. I hope you realise something though, it’s the same for me. You are my greatest weakness, but I think we need to do change the way we look at it. We shouldn’t view it as a weakness. We need to look at it as a strength. Something that propels us forward and ready to act, ready to fight, because we both know what we have is to precious to lose. I know you will never stop trying to protect me. Just as I will never stop trying to protect you either. I would go to any lengths for you, you know that right?' John asked meekly. Tough they were safe and it was all over, John was still having trouble resolving one thing in his mind. The fact that it was his fault. This latest skirmish, if he had listened to Sherlock and not left the lab, but no, he had let Mary lure him out and that stung that she used his trusting nature to lure him from Sherlock like that.

‘I'm sorry. If I had just listened to you. I need you to know that Sherlock. I would walk to the ends of the Earth for you and I want you to know that from hear out, I will never not listen when ask something of me.’

 

Sherlock was tired of hearing John apologising for something that wasn't his fault. Mary had known them and had played them both perfectly.   
  
'If you hadn't gone, thing would have turned out just as bad if not worse,' Sherlock declared fervently. 'She knew how to play the game. If you hadn't gone to her, we would have found her body amidst the rubble of the pool and we wouldn't have thought to check her body if it was really her. We would have had no reason to. You would have confirmed it was her and you would have blamed yourself for not going. And you would have blamed me for not letting you go. She would have torn us apart and we would have been unprepared for the rest of her plan.'  
  
Sherlock stroked the stubble on John's cheek, silently begging him to understand and let go of his guilt. 'It was because of you that Lestrade began to doubt. What you said on the phone about the bomb... that made us see. Even though I could not believe it was Mary, it allowed us to make a plan. To win. You, my brilliant John. Now please...' Sherlock tried to move so he could kiss him. 'Stop blaming yourself.'

 

He sighed. ’You're right. I know you're right. I guess I just need time. We both need time to work this out. We both have issues and we need to work through them. I don't meant to keep apologising, I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. I just don't want to say something and have you think I mean something entirely different. I don't know, I just feel like I have to get things out. Believe me, I know it's all in my head and I just need to work through it. I think just saying things and getting it out helps. I know I'm not making much sense, but it does help sort of. Not quite as cathartic as typing a case up on the blog, but then this whole thing that happened to us, this isn't one for the blog. It's just not that easy to let go of, now that I know that what I've got to lose is so much greater than ever before. And I'm really trying not to repeat myself but I guess it's just part of my way of trying to square everything and making sure we're alright. It will get better as the hours and days pass. It won't be as bad as time goes on, it will fade. I promise.’

John tipped his head down now so his forehead was touching the back of his hands. After a few deep, steadying breaths, he looked back up and smiled shyly.

 

Sherlock smiled back reassuringly. His fingers were still playing with the coarse hairs on John's face and when John raised his eyebrows in a silent question, Sherlock bit his lip. But his fingers kept moving.   
  
'I... uh... I kind of like it on you. It looks and feel... good.'  
  
Sherlock felt his cheeks burning and he looked down when he recognised the amusement in John's eyes. 'Shut up,' he muttered without heat. 

 

‘What?’ John laughed. ’Am I not allowed to find this amusing? You so preoccupied with my scruff when it took you what? All of not even five minutes of us being here alone for you to go and shave?’ John questioned him, smoothing his fingers along Sherlock's almost freshly shaven skin. ’You know, I didn't mind. If it bothers you, I can go shave quick before I fall asleep?’

He wasn't mad that Sherlock had changed the conversation, in fact he was a bit glad for it, as the subject was getting a bit heavy. He did not want to go to bed with his head filled with that conversation. True it was one they needed to have, but that was a beginning and a good one. They both knew where the other stood now and that's what mattered. That and the fact that he knew Sherlock was willing to talk about it made the difference, made it easy to shelf it for now, knowing that it would not stay there forever. Besides, it was more fun to pick on Sherlock about the state of his unshaven face. This bashfulness over something as simple was a bit amusing and John loved it.

 

'It was itching,' Sherlock complained. He leaned into John's touch, closing his eyes for a second to enjoy his fingers dancing on his skin. It was mesmerizing, the way John's fingers alone could bring such calm over him. But his eyes flew open when John suggested he should shave. 

'No. I mean, not yet. I want to... I want to kiss you again, like this.'

Something shifted in John's smile and suddenly he was there, their lips pressed against each other, their hands cupping each other’s faces. 

 

John hummed into the kiss and deepened it. He licked across the seam of Sherlock's lip, coaxing them open so he could delve into Sherlock's mouth. 

Between breaths as the kiss heated, they both murmured declarations of love and promises of never letting go. 

John smiled at Sherlock's fascination with his beard. He moved then, rubbing his cheek against Sherlock's slowly, allowing the detective time to catalogue the new sensation. John pulled his earlobe between his lips and sucked gently, his hand caressing Sherlock's cheek. ‘God I love you.’

 

Sherlock shivered, from both John's words and his lips at his ear. 'I love you, John,' he whispered as he guided John's lips back to his. 'My heart. My all.'  
  
They kissed languidly, not driven by lust. This was a need to be close, a way to show the other what couldn't be put into words.   
Their hands were lazy and slowed and their mouths moved each other uncoordinated.   
  
Sherlock moved them both, wrapping John in his arms and pressing him against his side so their legs tangled up. He settled John's head on his shoulder and he felt sleep drag them both under. They were exhausted but they would have time to recover. Finally, it was just them.   
  
And like that they slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait... what's this?!
> 
> An end? Seriously, after all this time, there is an actual ending to this bad boy? What a ride this has been. Not just the writing of it (you guys should have seen some of our Skype sessions) but also your reactions and seeing this piece of fan work climb the pages. Thank you. We can't stress it enough, but thank you. For the bottom of our hearts. 
> 
> And as token of our gratitude, we will not list this as 'completed' just yet. Why? 
> 
> Because one hell of a smutty epilogue is coming your way, our dearest readers.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Nothing but smut.

Two and a half weeks was the amount of time it took before Sherlock officially declared his boredom. It came a week after the doctor had finally discharged them, well John to be more precise; Sherlock had already been declared completely fit a few days prior.

When the doctor finally cleared John it was like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders and everything seemed to fall into a routine from that point on. They'd stay up late talking or watching telly and then fall asleep in each other’s arms only to wake up a tangled mess mid-morning. John would cook a late breakfast or early lunch depending on their mood and the afternoons would be spent a variety of ways - exploring the small town and surrounding areas or Sherlock in front of the microscope and John catching up on some novels he'd always wanted to read. Then they'd have a quiet dinner and spend the evening together, sometimes they would fool around and sometimes they would just drift off to sleep in each other's arms and even though they hadn't worked their way up to penetrative sex, neither felt unfulfilled and John was happy to let things proceed naturally. And though he couldn't have been happier, even he could feel the beginnings of boredom setting in, so it was almost a relief when Sherlock finally announced his displeasure at their situation.

‘So why is it taking so long again?’ he shouted from the table after John, who was walking into the sitting area of the cottage.

‘Do you never pay attention to your brother?’ John yelled right back.

‘No, not particularly.’ Sherlock grumbled.

John grinned as he found what he was looking for; his wallet and phone that had been casually tossed on the coffee table. He walked back to the kitchen and came up behind Sherlock now, wrapping his arms around the detective's waist. ’He said he wanted to make sure that he found all the bugs and cameras and anything else that could have been left there. So they are doing an entire sweep of the whole residence top to bottom. And also, the media seems in no rush to move on from the story, he figures maybe after another week or two they will give up and move on.’

‘Another week or two?! John, that's simply...’ Sherlock had begun to whine again but quieted down as John began to run his lips over his neck. After a few moments, John could feel the shivers running through the younger man's body, most likely from the whiskers, but John didn't say anything, he just smiled against Sherlock's skin. This was becoming an effective way of silencing a disgruntled Sherlock.

‘Simply what, you say?’ John asked as he stood up and hugged Sherlock. Sherlock remained at a loss for words, leaning back against John now, his eyes closed and a soft smile on his face. John leaned in and kissed his cheek. ’Look, I've got to run to the store, we are out of a few things.’ Ok, it was a small lie but they were in desperate need of lube, they didn't have any (this is one of the drawbacks of having someone else pack for you) and John had plans for this evening that hopefully included that item.

Sherlock's eyes flew open, he sat straight up now put off by John's announcement. A pout settled on his lips. He had been rather enjoying the current proceedings, John's lips at his neck, whiskers brushing against his skin. ’What could we possibly need?!’ he huffed out, exasperated.

John could sense his malcontent and tried to suppress a chuckle, he hadn't wanted to leave either, he had been enjoying Sherlock's neck, but they were in need of a few things. He leaned down again, nipping at Sherlock's neck, ‘Well, you've managed to use almost all the milk again, the tea supply is low. I was thinking I might like some fresh fruit, oh condoms and lube of course,’ he breezed past these two items quickly, letting Sherlock's brain fill in the implied purpose for these items, ‘Oh and I have this terrible craving for some ice cream and chocolate syrup.’

 

Lube and condoms.   
  
Sherlock's brain had screeched to a halt when John said those words.   
  
Lube and condoms.   
  
Lube and - sex. John wanted sex. With him. Actual lube-and-condom-required sex.   
  
Right.   
  
With Sherlock's neck still sensitive from John's beard, he pondered the idea. Well, he didn't actually need to ponder it. Penetrative sex was something they hadn't done before - before everything had happened, they never felt the need and after, well, the subject never came up.   
Although Sherlock did wonder what it was like to...   
  
Wait. Chocolate syrup?!  
  
Sherlock turned his head so fast he nearly bumped into John's and he stared up at him with wide eyes. 'So you want... you want to have sex?' he asked, unfortunately not without a slight stammer. 'Penetrative sex. With... chocolate syrup?'

 

Now John did chuckle. ’We don't have to use the syrup, but yes, I would very much like to have you or you have me that way.’ He licked across Sherlock's lips, dropping his voice a bit lower, brushing his fingers over Sherlock's cheek, ‘I just want you in every possible way as long as you want the same thing.’

He leaned forward, allowing their lips to come together, his hand cupping the back of Sherlock's head now, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss. He had originally planned on waiting but now he really wanted to give Sherlock something to look forward to. He let his tongue trace over Sherlock's lips before gently sucking Sherlock’s bottom lip between his and sucking, humming as he did. ’Oh God, the things I want to do to you.’

 

Sherlock leaned into John's touch. His earlier frustration had fallen completely away and it was just John, amazing John, brilliant John, who was kissing him - no. Who was snogging him within an inch of his life. And Sherlock didn't want to let him go.   
  
Damn the condoms. Damn the lube and the chocolate syrup and whatever more John wanted to buy. This. This was something he wouldn't give up on.   
  
Sherlock's heart pounded. His hands gripped John's shirt, ready to tear it off him if he wasn't fast enough for his liking. He needed more. Craved for it so badly he ached with it.   
  
He wanted John like John wanted him. Completely. 

 

John pulled back, nipping at Sherlock's lips then his neck. ’Hmm, so very interested then, yea?’ John couldn't truly help himself now. He ran his beard down the length of Sherlock's neck, his hands dropping to Sherlock's waist to hold Sherlock who had dropped his head to the side and back a bit, clearly enjoying the feel of the short hairs scratching along his skin. John mouthed over the skin till he reached his collar bone, where he left a small suck mark - a reminder of what they were starting. Then he trailed his fingers up Sherlock's side as he stood, cupping his face and pulling him forward before devouring his lips with a growl.

When he pulled back this time, Sherlock looked a sight. His chest heaving in quick pants, his lips slick and swollen from kissing, his curls a bit dishevelled from John's fingers running through them. And while John wanted nothing more than to pull him upstairs, he would have to make a trip to the store, if only for lube, he knew necessity for it and he wasn't going to forgo it and risk either of them discomfort or injury, especially if this was going to become a common occurrence the rest of their stay.

One more quick taste of Sherlock's lips first though. ’Mmm, delicious,’ he panted as he pulled back this time. ’Now why don't you go upstairs and get yourself ready while I pop off to the store and get what we need and before you argue with me, we do require lube at least. I don't want either of us not enjoying our first time because we didn't have any. I promise I won't be long.’

 

He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be leaving him alone. Now! Of all times, John was going to leave now and leave him here like this.   
  
'John...' he whined, leaning forward to try and capture John's lips again. Anything to make him stay just a little while longer. 

 

Sherlock...’ John soothed, ‘Please, the sooner I leave, the quicker I get back and you can use the time to decide what you'd like to do when I get back.’ He left a quick kiss on Sherlock’s lips and pulled him from the chair heading towards the front room and the staircase. He kissed him one last time before turning him and nudging him up the stairs.

‘I promise, it won't take near as long as you think. I promise to buy enough too so we won't have to go back anytime soon. He was turning to leave but something struck him, he turned back, ‘Sherlock, I just sort of presumed about the condoms and seeing as how we've both just had nearly every test known to mankind, do you prefer them or not? I've no preference since we're both healthy, but I'll leave the decision to you.’

 

Sherlock shook his head. No condoms. 

After waiting as long as they had, after all they had faced, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to feel John. Every last part of him. 

And now John was leaving, which was not how he wanted this to go at all!

'Can't you let Mycroft do it? He's been suggesting that he feels the need to make it up to us.' Sherlock smiled innocently. 

 

Now the guilt was beginning to set in. John should have just gone and picked the things up and found some way to bring it up when he got back, but he had just gotten carried away. He stepped forward taking Sherlock's hands in his and lacing their fingers together and pulling him down for a kiss.

‘While it would be enjoyable to send Mycroft on such an errand, you do realise it would take over an hour if he was even available, not to mention he'd have to bring it inside – not something I'm sure I'd want to deal with when he'd finally get here. I can go and be back, twenty minutes at the most, less if we're lucky. And I promise, I will make it worth your while when I get back. I'll make sure you don't remember you had to wait.’ He brought their lips together, invading Sherlock's mouth with his tongue, snogging him senseless till he felt the younger man sagging against him and panting between little nips.

‘Now, up the stairs with you. Oh and Sherlock, you can get yourself ready, even touch yourself, just don't bring yourself off, yeah? I want that pleasure myself.’

 

Sherlock groaned in frustration when they parted for breath again. The longer John lingered, the harder it became to let him leave the cottage in the first place. But by God, John's promises sounded too good not to take into consideration. 

'Fine...' Sherlock relented. 'But I make no promises, so you better hurry up!' 

 

John smirked at Sherlock's comment. Leave it to the detective to make such a statement to show his displeasure. Well John could play dirty too. He grabbed Sherlock by the waist and pulled him close, one hand snaking through his hair, angling his head just so as their lips came together in a bruising force. He kissed him slow and deep, taking his time, leaving them both breathless when they parted. 

'I'll be right back,' he whispered as he turned Sherlock and nudged him up the stairs. 

He quickly turned and exited instead of following Sherlock up the stairs like his body wanted. He quickly made it to the car and sank into the seat, taking a moment to compose himself. He took a deep breath and pressed the heel of his hand to his raging erection to relieve some of the pressure. This would work out for the better, by denying himself from the start, he would be able to go longer this evening and that sure as hell was a more enticing thought than getting exactly what he wanted and coming right away. No he wanted to make this, their first time like this, something they both would remember for many nights after this. 

He started the car and was off. It was a quiet evening and there were no other cars on the road which meant he was at the store in minutes, gathering the four boxes off the shelf and heading directly to the counter with a look of triumph on his face. He didn't care what the young girl behind the counter thought, as long as she quickly rang him out. 

She smiled as she checked him out and handed him his bag. 'Have a good evening sir.' 

'I fully intend to. You do the same.' He replied back and with that he was on his way back to the cottage. Thirteen minutes after he had walked out of the cottage, he found himself shrugging his jacket off and throwing it on the couch and setting the alarm. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, bag in hand and when he made it to the bedroom, and the sight that greeted him made him stop dead in his tracks. 

 

Sherlock stood in their bedroom for a moment, looking around the room, contemplating what to do while he was waiting for John to come back. His body felt tense with excitement and when he raised his hands to unbutton his shirt – he realised his hands were trembling. 

Calm down. 

Sherlock took a deep breath. This was his John. This meant something. But John wouldn't rush him. He would take his time, make sure he was okay before doing anything. It wasn't his first time, but Sherlock barely remember the last time he had penetrative sex. Barely out of uni. A kid, nothing more. 

Sherlock shrugged off his shirt when he finally managed to undo the buttons. Would John want to fuck him? Or would he let Sherlock inside of him? Had John ever done that before? Why hadn't they talked about this before?

Okay. Deep breath. Another. Calm down. They would sort things out. Honestly. 

Sherlock got undressed and sat down on the bed, completely naked. His erection had sagged a little but when he ghosted his hand over it, the interest came back in full force. John was on his way here, with lube, to have sex with him. He leaned back a little, supporting the weight of his upper body with one arm while the other and parted his legs to tenderly stroke the skin of his inner thighs. 

The slam of the door downstairs and John's hurried footsteps, made Sherlock bite his lips. He was here. They would... soon, they would... oh God!

Sherlock palmed himself, gasping, when he heard the door opening.

 

John nearly dropped the bag as he stood watching from the doorway. While this wasn't a new sight to him, it was always something to behold - watching Sherlock touch himself. He was reclined on the bed, legs swaying off the side, languidly stroking himself from root to tip. John's mouth went dry and a myriad of thoughts raced through his mind of what he'd like to start with. Then his brain spoke up and reminded him, whatever he did, start slow, they had all night and the next day. There was no need to rush a single thing. Not now, not ever.

As he approached the bed, he removed one package of lube and placed the bag on the night stand. He dropped the bottle on the bed up near the pillow and stopped right in front of Sherlock, close but not yet touching. He reached out and let his fingers trail up Sherlock's thigh.

‘You are gorgeous. Just look at you lying here touching yourself waiting so patiently for me. Now before I begin, is there anything you'd like? Because I have an idea of how I'd like to start.’

 

Sherlock watched John watching him and he felt his nerves settle. They weren't gone - Sherlock could still feel the excitement at the prospect of something new happening - but they made sense now. He could understand it. 

Sherlock didn't take his eyes of John when he approached him, nor did he stop touching himself. He shivered when John's fingers came in contact with his thigh. It was as every single nerve ending in his body latched on to that little point of contact. 

What did he want? 

Too much. Everything. All of it at once. 

But words seemed to fail him. Except for one.

'John.'

 

His eyes slid shut as Sherlock said his name, a shiver running through his body. He couldn't quite believe this moment was here, oh how many times had he dreamed of this exact moment and here it was. His fingers continued their trail up Sherlock's thigh as he leaned forward, placing his other hand on the bed, back by Sherlock's. He brought their lips together as his fingers slowly traced the skin of his shaft, mingling with Sherlock's own fingers as he continued his ministrations.

His tongue explored Sherlock's mouth slowly, humming appreciatively as their tongues swirled around each other. John continued his exploration of Sherlock's body with his hand. Trailing up his abdomen with the lightest of touches, thumbing each nipple then proceeding to up his neck, under his chin, his fingers finally brushing Sherlock's cheek as he pulled back.

The sight of Sherlock caused his breath to hitch. ’How about we move back further on the bed?’ He asked as he kicked his shoes off before crawling onto the bed with Sherlock.

 

They moved back onto the bed together, John hovering over Sherlock's body, their mouths never more than a hairs length apart from each other. But when Sherlock settled against the pillows, John moved and allowed his lips to explore where his hands had been mere moments before. 

Having John with him, his weight pinning him down and his mouth caressing every inch of skin he uncovered, made Sherlock shiver. It had been so long since they had been like this. Since they last  _could_ do this and it was better, so much better that even he could remember. 

And that beard!

Sherlock hadn't lied when he told John he liked it on him but he had greatly underestimated just how arousing it could be. The feeling of the hairs scraping against his skin set his nerves on fire and made him desperate for more. His back arched into John's touch and he didn't bothering hiding his moans. 

Meanwhile Sherlock tried to get him out of his clothing. He wanted to see him, feel him, taste him. Every last inch of John he wanted to have bare in front of him.

 

John allowed Sherlock to pull his jumper and the shirt he wore underneath off, but became impatient and began on his belt only to have Sherlock’s hand pulling his away.

‘No, let me, please.’ Sherlock plead. John let his hands fall to his side, letting Sherlock have the honours. When he was finally naked, he pushed Sherlock back and kissed down Sherlock's long neck, ignoring Sherlock's roaming hands. John couldn't be distracted, not when he had the perfect way to make up for earlier.

He mouthed across his collar bone then down his chest to his nipple, where he let his tongue circle the soft skin. He was gentle, building up for when he closed his lips around the responsive skin and sucked. Sherlock arched his back and moaned and John smiled as he moved to give the other nipple the same attention. When he was finished, he kissed down Sherlock's lean torso, and ghosted his mouth over his erection while bringing his hands to Sherlock's hips.

He could tell by the way Sherlock raised his hips what his detective desired, but not quite yet, he had other plans. He held his hips firm for a moment before coaxing him over on his stomach. This was John's favourite feature of Sherlock, his arse. It was for lack of a better word, perfect.

‘John, I thought you would...’ Sherlock began to question.

‘Shh, I think I have something you'll enjoy even more.’ John purred as he began to knead Sherlock's arse cheeks with his hands. He bent forward, planting kisses on the small off his back before inching slowly downwards, rubbing his whiskers against his skin as he went. Oh yes, John had something much better planned.

 

With his face pressed in the pillow and his erection rubbing against the sheets it wasn’t hard for him to become nearly overwhelmed at John’s promise. If Sherlock had known this was going to happen…  _oh!_

John’s lips were moving. His hands were massaging the cheeks of his arse, pulling them apart slightly.  _He was going to… oh my God_.

Sherlock groaned in anticipation and impatience, pressing his hips up so John couldn't mistake his want for anything else. The mere idea of having John's mouth there, his beard scratching the inside of his cheeks... Sherlock couldn't wait and he didn't want to. 

'Please, John...'

 

How could John deny him now? With both their comfort in mind, John reached for a pillow and placed it under Sherlock, got him settled and then arranged himself, shifting his weight as not to disturb his arm, still tender from being stabbed but nicely healed now with no chance of reopening. He leaned forward huffing warm breaths onto Sherlock's smooth skin as he spread his arse cheeks apart, Pulling moans and pleas for more from Sherlock. 

John being ever the tease, decided it wasn't quite time yet to give Sherlock exactly what he wanted, instead he ran his cheek across Sherlock's pale skin before letting his tongue barely graze over the skin. Sherlock's first impulse was to push back for more but John held him securely in place causing Sherlock to groan in displeasure.

‘Ah, patience there love. Can't have you getting too worked up. Wouldn't want you coming before I even get to the good part.’ John taunted before swiping his tongue once over the puckered skin. Sherlock shivered and John smirked, repeating the motion again only slower this time.

He kept the initial onslaught to long, even laps over Sherlock's hole all while holding Sherlock steady. Within minutes they had settled into a gentle back and forth rhythm, John advancing forward with his tongue and Sherlock pressing back pleading for more. It was intoxicating, the dark, musky scent and the near forbidden nature of the act John was performing, better than any fantasy his mind could ever supply.

John inched closer, curling his tongue and adding pressure to work the muscle loose as he continued his ministrations, saliva beginning to pool on his tongue and drip down his chin. Now it was John's turn to groan as his tongue dipped inside just the slightest, providing him with his first real taste of Sherlock.

 

Sherlock was about ready to scream in frustration. He knew John could tease, but this... this was pure torture! 

'John...' Sherlock gasped out when he felt John's tongue move over his hole again. There was nothing he could do like this. John had him pinned down and even if he hadn't, Sherlock couldn't risk hurting John's arm. 'John. John, please, just...'

Another swipe of his tongue and Sherlock's begging turned into a long groan. 

Sherlock tried to reach back to grab John, but he stayed well out of his reach, leaving Sherlock to scramble at the sheets. 

He gasped, too overcome with pleasure to push back for more. Words couldn't describe the white hot feeling that spread from John's tongue to the rest of his body. It left him quivering, nearly overcome. 

'John. John, oh God, John please...'

Sherlock didn't even realise what he was saying. His mind consisted only of John and a desperate need for more. 

 

The need to give Sherlock exactly what he wanted was almost too great, but John resisted, holding him steady pushing his tongue in a bit further a few more times before withdrawing it completely, sucking one last time against his quivering hole. He kissed and nipped up Sherlock's cheek to the small of his back. Once there, he sucked a few marks onto the skin there before dragging his tongue slowly up his spine, Sherlock arching his back to catch more of John's tongue against his overheated skin. Sherlock was groaning and crying out for more, but fell silent when he felt John's hard, leaking cock pressing against the back of his thigh.

Sherlock reached around grabbing John's thigh and held him close while rolled them to their sides. When the settled, he could feel John's breath, hot puffs against the shell of his ear.

‘Tell me what you want Sherlock.’ He growled, nipping at his ear. ’I want to hear it from you.’

 

Sherlock barely managed to get the words out when John asked him. 

 

'You - I want to feel you, John.' He pushed his hips back against John's groin, revelling in the feeling of John's erection sliding against him. God, to have him pressing inside of him, stretching him, filling him. Sherlock gripped the sheets and looked behind so he could look at John. 

The sight of him was almost like a punch in the gut. 

John's pupils were blown wide and his lips, those glorious lips, were swollen and red from earlier. Sherlock tried to turn his head so he could kiss them. But the angle was all wrong and it didn't take long before Sherlock's neck began to hurt. 

Sherlock grunted in frustration, lowering his voice when he spoke. 'I want you to fuck me, John. But I want to see you.'

 

Instantly John was up on his side, pulling Sherlock so he was flat on his back, searching for the bottle of lube that was somewhere on the godforsaken top of the mattress. Ah, there it was, hiding under the pillow. John grinned as he crawled between Sherlock's legs, nudging them further apart as he settled between them. He had been so wrapped up trying to find the lube and get everything ready that he hadn't looked at Sherlock until this very moment. He lunged forward claiming his lips, he couldn't help himself after seeing the hunger in his eyes.

His hands kept moving, flicking the lid open and dispensing a nice sized dollop of lube on his fingers. He rubbed them together, warming it before touching Sherlock, nothing was worse than the cold jolt against your skin when you've already waited this long. His tongue slipped inside Sherlock's mouth just as his fingers skimmed over Sherlock's perineum and began teasing his hole.

 

Sherlock arched his back, groaned into John's mouth, when he felt John's finger press up against him. He spread his legs as far as they would go, giving John all the room he needed and more. More. More. He wanted more. 

 

'John...' Sherlock groaned and he tried to push back on John's finger. 'Please, John, I want more...'

 

 

  
‘Shh,’ John soothed him, ‘there's no need to rush this, we've got all the time we could ever possibly want.’

 

John groaned as the heat from Sherlock's body enveloped his finger as he slowly slid it in all the way. And as much as he wanted to watch every expression on Sherlock's face, he wanted to kiss him more. Their lips met again, not in a frenzy but in a slow slide to match the rhythm that John was setting with fingers. Soon one finger became two and two became three and John's lips were travelling down his neck causing Sherlock to writhe and squirm underneath him.

 

‘You ready for me?’ John murmured, licking a path back up his neck before devouring his lips again.

 

 

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's hips, pulling him closer to him the moment John pulled his fingers back. They might have all the time in the world now, but Sherlock didn't want to wait. They had waited long enough - years! - to have this and Sherlock wanted to feel him. Every part of him. 

 

'Do it, John. Please.' Sherlock pressed his heels down so that they'd be pushed closer together. Their cocks slid against each other’s, making them both gasp. Sherlock reached down with his hand, grabbing John and lining him up where he wanted him the most. God he was burning, positively aching with need. He wanted John and he wanted him now! They could tease later. 

 

Sherlock stilled when he felt the blunt head of John's cock press against him and he licked his lips. 'John...'

 

 

 

‘Christ...’ John murmured as he breached Sherlock, his breath leaving his body in a rush. This was a feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced before and John wanted to savour and remember it forever. He stilled his hips, allowing them both a moment to take in this new feeling before slowly pushing in until he bottomed out. He paused a moment again, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's lips, then withdrew slowly. Without warning, he snapped his hips forward and pulled back quickly setting the pace.

 

 

 

Oh God, the feeling of having John finally inside of him, stretching him, was better than he could have imagined. Whatever feeling he might had conjured up for himself, it hadn't been close. 

 

This was... that was... 

Sherlock blinked. It was too much. It was not enough. 

 

_Christ, John..._

 

Sherlock didn't know if he said those words aloud, but he could feel his body moving to meet every single one of John's thrusts. And he could feel John speed up. Oh God, Sherlock could already feel the heat building at the base of his spine. He wasn't going to last long like this. John filled him perfectly, making him quiver with each movement.

 

 

 

‘Fuck Sherlock,’ John growled, grabbing his arse and spreading him further as he thrust deeper. ‘You feel amazing.’

 

Shifting his weight and position caused him to brush against Sherlock's prostate and the detective thrashed beneath him. John aimed for that spot, hitting it with near perfection each push and pull driving Sherlock closer to the edge. 

 

‘Come on Sherlock, come for me,’ he ordered, wrapping his hand around Sherlock's cock and stroking to match the rhythm of his thrusts.

 

 

Sherlock's mind was blank, completely overwhelmed by John's movements. His world existed solely on the slapping of their skin, the pressure and stretch as John filled him up over and over again. The feel of John's hand on his cock. This was better than he ever imagined. 

 

Sherlock moaned, his breath leaving him in heated gasps and John kept on moving at a relentless pace.

'John, I...'

Sherlock could feel his balls tightening and he strengthened his grip on the sheets. He wanted this to last longer, but it was too much. He had spent so long wanting this. Now that he had it, his body saw no sense in delaying any longer.   
  
John must have sensed how close he was because his voice - deep and gruff and oh Sherlock would never ever delete that tone of John's voice from his mind - suddenly called out to him, ordering him to come. 

Sherlock opened his eyes - when had he closed them?- and then he was coming. A broken sound tore from his throat as his body shook and clenched around John. He could feel the heat of his own ejaculate pool on his belly. Sherlock fought to keep his eyes fixed on John but the pleasure was too overwhelming and he could see John fade away as the other man's thrust became more erratic.

 

 

John never slowed as Sherlock's orgasm overtook him, pounding into him over and over until the last wave surged through his body. 

 

What a sight he was under John, head thrown back, body flushed as he heaved in breath after breath. Absolutely stunning and it spurred John on, driving harder until several erratic thrusts later, while Sherlock's fingers were clawed down his back.

 

'Fuck,' John groaned as he tipped over the edge, body going rigid while his come filled Sherlock. 'Christ you're amazing,' he huffed as he let his body sag forward, coming to rest almost entirely on top of Sherlock. He nosed under Sherlock's jawline planting kisses, muttering 'beautiful, gorgeous, incredible.' Before pushing himself back up on his arms and drawing Sherlock into a languid kiss. 

 

 

Sherlock watched, entranced, as John came inside of him. His mind was struggling, committing every single detail to his mind palace - he would have to experience it again, as often as possible - but oh how he tried.

To see John like this, completely lost and beautiful was the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. It had been before, but now, something felt different. More meaningful. More real. Sherlock felt the warmth spread from his heart to the rest of his body. He was so in love with John Watson, it ached. Sentiment. He had abhorred it once. Deemed it messy and dangerous to his Work. But John... John had changed everything.   
  
Sherlock's muscles relaxed as John let himself sink down on top of him. His weight was comforting as Sherlock's fingers were stroking the lines of John's back lazily. Sherlock could feel John soften inside him but he didn't want to let him go just yet. 

Sherlock would never know what gripped him in that moment when they were still panting in each other’s arms. He would never know what possessed him to say those words but he knew he wanted it. Ever since he had heard John mention it, he knew he wanted it more than anything.

Their lips parted and the words escaped Sherlock's lips in a whisper. 

'Marry me?'

 

John waited, holding his breath while he watched Sherlock turned his request over in his mind. 

 

When he finally asked again, John let go of his breath.

 

'Yes.' He kissed Sherlock gently. 'A thousand times yes. It would be the greatest privilege to be your husband.' 

 

He leaned forward again, letting their lips come slowly together, moulding to one another and sliding part as the kiss deepened and their tongues mingled against each other. When they pulled apart, John smiled. 'I love you Sherlock.'

 

 

 

Sherlock let that word settle inside his head. John Watson, his husband. Together. The two of them against the rest of the world. A sob nearly escaped him when John kissed him. He grabbed John's arms, struggling to find enough strength in his arms to keep him as close to him as possible. 

 

'John. My John,' he breathed out when their lips parted. 'I love you. I love you. I love you.' 

He couldn't stop saying the words. Not even when they kissed again. Not even when a smile broke out on both their faces, and Sherlock wouldn’t have to stop. Never Again. Whether by words or by deeds, Sherlock was determined to spend the rest of his lifetime showing John how much he loved him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 60 chapters and it is finally finished! 
> 
> We want to thank you all again for sticking by us through the telling of this tale, that started out as nothing more than a small RP to occupy ourselves. Thank you for your comments, your kudos, your likes and your reblogs. Honestly, it meant and still means the world to us!


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